


Describe Your Perfect Date

by ali_aliska



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU Where Everyone is Happy Alive and Not Fighting, Based on Parks and Rec S3E10 Soulmates, Bucky is trying his best, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Clint Barton’s Questionable Choices in Italian Food, Everyone is a good bro, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, General Dumpster Fire Disaster Clint Barton, Humor, Insecure Bucky Barnes, Inspired by Parks and Recreation, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha is Amused by Her Boyfriend’s Antics, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Online Dating, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rejection, Steve is Trying to Be the Responsible Adult, Team as Family, Tony and Clint get Matched Up Online, Tony regrets everything, dumb idiots in love, everyone is a disaster, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: After getting turned down by Bucky, Tony decides it’s time to move on from his massive crush. He tries online dating—Pepper’s idea, not his—but the only thing worse than getting rejected is getting rejected and finding out your soulmate-level match isClint Barton, all in the same day.Clint, of course, does not let opportunities like this go to waste, but he’s driving Tony nuts for a good cause, he swears.Bucky’s just trying to do the right thing and fails spectacularly, but it all works out in the end.[2019 Tony Stark Bingo: A4 - Soulmates (Ch. 1-3) & T1 - Clint Barton/Hawkeye (Ch. 4-6)]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the fandom needs some fluff right now, so this is my humble contribution. Now, I won't see Endgame for another few days, so please no spoilers in the comments. Let's just pretend Endgame never happened. ;)
> 
> This fic is essentially the Avengers version of a Parks and Recreation episode, "Soulmates"; it follows the beats of the episode pretty closely and borrows some dialogue snippets, so credit where credit is due. If anything sounds particularly clever, thank the good writers at NBC. I do think the fic is funnier if you've seen the episode, but you don't have to have seen it or know anything about Parks and Rec to enjoy this.
> 
> Other than some touch-ups and editing, this fic is basically done, so there shouldn't be any posting delays. I'll aim for updates every other day until we're done, but we'll see if I can sneak you a chapter early. Enjoy!

Bucky’s lashes really did go on for miles, Tony thought dreamily, mesmerized by the sight, right until his more logical senses kicked in and Tony had to remind his straying mind that he should really be _listening_ to Bucky instead of daydreaming about his pretty eyes and his leather combat suit and his murder strut and those _thighs_ —

“This was a good day,” Bucky said, entirely unaware. He was smiling, which had the inadvertent effect of distracting Tony _again_ because how was it that those crinkles at the corners of Bucky’s eyes were so attractive? “Felt like we were really helping, you know?”

They were walking down the hall side by side, both happy to be done with their always-lengthy post-mission debrief. Tony loved Steve, he really did, but by god, that man took mission reports way too seriously.

He nodded emphatically, because he was absolutely, without a doubt, _listening_ and not thinking about kissing the corners of Bucky’s eyes like a love-struck fool. 

“I totally get it. I mean, we’re technically helping nine times out of ten, but I agree, it’s nice to leave a scene less destroyed than when we started. Well, sorta.” Tony cringed, remembering the portions of landscape they couldn’t save. “At least we weren’t creating a bigger mess, right?”

“Exactly. We’re great at making messes—”

“The best.”

“—but these are the missions that remind me why we do what we do.”

They spent the day playing firefighters, which was a job usually left to _actual_ firefighters, but the forest fire was a big one, threatening to take over a chunk of Southern California, so the Avengers were called in to assist before it did massive damage and endangered lives. Thankfully, the Avengers (read: Tony) had some nifty tools at their disposal and while Iron Man, War Machine, and the Iron Legion (read: JARVIS) took care of the actual fire, the rest of the team helped local first responders with the evacuations. 

The same team that now included one soot-covered, smiling, unfairly distracting Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s long and complicated period of healing began with him showing up at the Tower one night, unannounced, dripping wet from the rain, and so _despondent_ that every Avenger momentarily forgot this was the infamous Winter Soldier on their doorstep—you know, the same assassin extraordinaire who gave Steve and Sam the run-around for nearly a year and the one who could kill them all seven different ways without breaking a sweat.

An interesting night to say the least, but no one got stabbed—there may have been some super soldiers weeping into each other’s arms, but the Avengers would take that secret to their graves—and the healing continued from there. Slow, painful steps and several setbacks, lots of therapy, late night talks, and a ridiculous amount of hugging (which Tony complained about, at length, because of course he did, even though he was the clingiest of them all), but in the end, Bucky Barnes was given a clean bill of health (courtesy of their medical team), a new and improved arm (courtesy of Tony and Dr. Cho), and his very own Avengers security badge (courtesy of Steve, who may have teared up, _again_ , when he handed it over). In the process of all that healing, Bucky became an integral part of the team and an impossibly gorgeous, sweet-talking, sassy-as-hell, breathtaking part of Tony’s life.

Bucky also happened to be perfect for this job. He loved helping people, eager to make up for the crimes he was forced to commit, and the public took to him like a duck to water, falling in love with his story of recovery and redemption, utterly enamored with his sweet smiles and pretty blue eyes and ‘aw, shucks’ attitude that was belied by the assassin finesse and sharp intellect—oh, _and_ those killer arms, and the way the combat suit wrapped around him like a damn dream, showcasing all those muscles and strength and every gorgeous inch of him—

Okay, so maybe it was only _Tony_ who was enamored with those parts.

He coughed to clear his throat.

“Didn’t get too toasty in the leather while you were out saving the civvies, Snowflake?”

Bucky snorted and hid the shy smile with a tilt of his head. “A little bit, but you were right, people do like the suit. I’ve got no clue in hell as to why, I was an _assassin_ when I wore it.”

“Hey, people don’t think with their brains, they think with their guts and the combat suit makes you look all powerful and in control.” Tony was not projecting, nope, not at all. “Makes them feel safe, like you’re gonna take good care of them.”

Okay, so maybe he _was_ projecting, but only a little.

Projecting and wishing he could pull Bucky into the nearest closet—there were several excellent options down this hall alone—but Tony’s crush was still a secret—well, _mostly_ , because Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and Peter and the other half of the Compound knew and Tony really needed to work on his poker face—but Bucky _didn’t_ and Tony still wasn’t sure where they stood as far as something romantic.

They were friends—close friends, in fact—and their friendship was a precious thing that developed from what began as a painful process of forgiveness and understanding, but one that made them both stronger in the end. They enjoyed spending time together, Bucky a common sight in Tony’s workshop, Tony spending his free lunches chatting with Bucky while Bucky planted and weeded and tended to their communal garden (Bruce’s bad influence, but it made Bucky happy, so Tony never made a contrary peep) and nine times out of ten, it was Bucky that Tony ended up falling asleep on during weekly movie nights (there was something inexplicably soothing about the background noise of cinematic explosions, the presence of his family and friends, and Bucky’s shoulder, which, while it appeared to be carved from marble, was surprisingly comfortable).

They were close and in a different way than say, Bucky and Steve, or Tony and Rhodey. A little more intimate, a little less brotherly, and it equal parts drove Tony crazy and made his life that much brighter.

Bucky _did_ like him, he had to, because ‘just friends’ didn’t brush their hands that low on someone’s back when they were reaching around to get their morning coffee. ‘Just friends’ didn’t give those meaningful, lingering looks with those soulful, bedroom eyes, or hold the other after a nightmare or let their thighs press together under the table during a debrief—

Tony reined back his wandering mind once again. Good lord, Bucky was _terrible_ for his concentration.

He opened his mouth, but Bucky beat him to it.

“So I know we just finished a mission and you’re probably exhausted—I sure am and I would love to get out of this damn leather already—but I’ve had some ideas for the next time we face up against Doom. After last time, I noticed his doombots now follow a new pattern—I’m sure you would’ve picked up on it too, but I think I was the only one in a position to actually _see_ it. You know, since I tend to stick to my lookout points instead of flinging myself off of every building I see.”

Tony snorted. “Hey, Clint isn’t that bad.” That earned him a flat stare and he amended, “Alright, yes, he is that bad, but he’s our resident dumpster fire and we love him for it. Even if he does inexplicably smell like wet dog after every other mission.”

“That’s because he goes and rolls around in the mud _with_ wet dogs.”

“We have no proof of that. Only Fido’s lingering musk. But enough about Bird Brain. Yes, I would love to hear what you have on the doombots. Next time Doom shows up in New York, I wanna be ready because if I have to hear him monologuing—in third person, no less— _again_ , I will lose my mind.”

Bucky grinned, pleased and proud, his eyes clear and bright—and the smudge of soot on his cheek only made him cuter and Tony couldn’t figure out how that even worked, but he decided right then and there, this was it, this was the time to bite the bullet.

“So uh, I was thinking,” he began, ignoring his heart going a mile a minute and making him light-headed with excitement and nerves, “after we get cleaned up—you know, you trade your leather in for a pair of jeans, I scrub the lingering smell of sweltering Iron Man suit out of my hair… Maybe we could grab dinner together? Discuss those doombots over some drinks? I, uh, I really like you, that’s probably obvious, and um— well, there’s this really cute little diner not too far away— or we can do something fancy, that’s an option too— I mean, we can take my car if you want, hang out in the city, make a date out of it—”

Bucky’s step faltered, which was painfully obvious because an assassin’s step rarely _faltered_ , and Tony’s stomach sank right through the floor, then into the Earth’s crust, straight the other side of the planet and out into the cold darkness of space, as Bucky slowed to a stop and turned to him, every inch of him pouring out discomfort and his eyes settling on the wall right above Tony’s shoulder.

“It’s, uh, that’s a real sweet offer, Tony, but I think, uh—” Suave-as-sin assassins didn’t stumble over their words either. “Well, I wouldn’t want to take up your personal time, you’re already so busy. Working too much, as always, it really isn’t fair how many things you’re responsible for, but you, uh, you manage it all so brilliantly.” Now Bucky was outright rambling and Tony knew what that meant far too well. “Because you, uh, _you’re_ brilliant, obviously. But how— how about we talk about Doom during, uh, working hours instead? Maybe with Steve there, to- to supervi— to _support_ our discussion, I mean? I wouldn’t want to impose or make any trouble.”

Oh god, this was so much worse than Tony could’ve imagined. He really thought he’d read this right, that Bucky would be excited and eager to grab a bite, spend some time together, and see where things went. Hell, they spent time together all the time right here at the Compound!

But as Tony took in Bucky’s painfully awkward posture, the tell-tale foot-to-foot shift, he knew he messed this up. They were _friends_ and of course Bucky was comfortable with him here, in their home, with their family and friends close by, but asking him out like this turned their relationship—friendship, Tony, _friendship_ —into something more and Bucky clearly wasn’t interested.

“Yeah, we can totally do something during the day. Tomorrow maybe? I’ll see if Steve is free.”

“Thank you, Tony. You’re— you’re the best, you know that, right? Sorry if, uh, if I—”

Tony was already waving away the apologies. No harm, no foul, even if his chest did ache something fierce, not dissimilar to the way the arc reactor used to hurt. “Bucky, you’re my favorite assassin, whatever you’re happy with is what I’m happy with.”

The strained smile didn’t reach Bucky’s eyes and the unhappy emotion lingering there… Tony couldn’t identify it, but it made him want to simultaneously hug Bucky _and_ bolt right on out of here. Neither compulsion was surprising. Tony dearly loved this man and he didn’t _want_ to upset him. And the desire to flee? Understandable. His heart was only a tiny bit broken here, this was _awkward_ , and Tony wanted to sort of cry into a bottle of scotch right now. He blamed the tell-tale prickle of tears on being half-singed, exhausted, and stuck in a smoky underarmor that made him itchy as hell.

“I, uh, I need to go.” Tony gestured at himself, thankful his voice didn’t tremble. “Take that shower I was talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Bucky still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I think, I’ll, uh, head to the gym or— or something,” he added awkwardly, and nodded to himself, as if confirming his own plans. He squeaked out a fumbling, “Bye, Tony,” and took off, but not before nearly colliding with a Compound employee walking the other way in plain sight.

Tony’s eyes followed him until Bucky, now all hunched shoulders and lines of tension _,_ disappeared from view. He stood in the hall, took a deep breath, and gave himself a nod too.

No harm, no foul, right?

***

“Oh, Pepper, this is the worst day _ever_ ,” Tony whined and dropped his head back to Pepper’s fancy glass desk. He barely had enough time to dry off after the shower, get dressed, and put on a pair of sneakers before the compulsion to bolt took over and he jumped into the fastest car he owned to drive like a madman straight to Manhattan.

Pepper scratched the crown of his head before the sound of typing resumed. “I’m sorry he didn’t want to go out with you.”

“I really thought we had something… I mean, we were close, right?”

“Very close. A little too close for public spaces, in fact.”

“Exactly. And he’s not like that with everyone. Just me,” Tony added petulantly. He hooked his chin over his forearms so he could look at Pepper properly while he pouted. “But I guess I read it all wrong.”

She gave him a sympathetic look and the soft way she watched him helped soothe some of the heartache. They weren’t together anymore, a mutual choice to break things off not long after the Aldrich Killian disaster, but they remained friends and colleagues—and hell, _family_ , after everything they’ve been through. Tony was very lucky to have her in his life.

“I really thought he liked you too, Tony.” She reached out again, to brush a thumb over his cheek. “And you know what, that’s his loss. You’re funny and smart and kind—”

“And sexy. Don’t forget sexy.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “How could I forget? It’s the main reason I dated you.” Tony huffed and she tilted her head playfully. “Well, aside from the generosity and the heroism and that big, beautiful brain and an even bigger heart—”

“You flatterer, you. Don’t ever stop talking.”

“And you deserve someone _great_. I know you really liked him, but you’ll find someone special, I promise.”

Tony sighed, the hurt of rejection mostly mollified by Pepper’s presence (and the compliments never hurt either), but the pout didn’t want to budge, so he aimed it at the desk.

“I guess Bucky and I just weren’t meant to be… But it’s hard to date around these days! I’m not exactly a spring chicken anymore and ninety percent of my time is spent around super soldiers, spies, SHIELD agents, and Bruce. So yeah, the dating pool is pretty shallow.”

Pepper hummed and the _click-clack_ of keys continued for a brief minute as she multitasked. Tony spent the time poking at the familiar silver bauble that remained on Pepper’s desk to this day.

Pepper was one of his best friends, the strongest, kindest, most clever person he’d ever met, but she was also, occasionally, evil. Case in point, the maddening, spinning monstrosity that called itself a paper weight. He grabbed one end to stop the spinning and that was when Pepper turned her attention back to him, an amused smirk pulling at her lips.

“Sorry, had to answer that, our CFO is having a mini-breakdown over the quarterly report.”

Tony frowned. “Do we need to deal with that? I can complain about my love life later. We can put something on the schedule.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “No, I’ll let him panic for a few hours. If you recall, I actually used to do accounting, so I know what the answer is, but how will he learn if he doesn’t figure it out for himself?”

Definitely evil and Tony loved her all the more for it.

“Now, I think I might have a solution to your problem too. Have you thought about trying online dating?”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Like Tinder or something? Pep, you know I’m nearing fifty, right? Sexy as hell for fifty, yes, but I’m long past one-night stands.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “I know that, but there are websites other than Tinder. Some are geared towards meaningful relationships and I’ve heard a few of them run some pretty impressive compatibility algorithms.”

“Nope, no way, I don’t trust any tech I haven’t built myself.”

“Oh come on, what’s the harm? Yes, you’re a little famous, but you don’t have to respond unless the other person sounds like a good match. Besides, how is this any worse than going on awkward dates with SHIELD agents and being turned down by ninety-nine year old former assassins?”

Tony chewed on his lip as he contemplated her suggestion. It wasn’t the _worst_ idea, he supposed, Pepper never had those, but online dating? Really? 

At first glance, he’d say this was the sort of thing Peter or Harley would recommend—and you always took Gen-Z advice with a grain of salt because those kids were too damn nihilistic for their own good—but at the same time, Tony wasn’t a technophobe and leaving the matters of love in the hands of an algorithm sounded like something right up his alley.

So why did the idea feel so wrong?

An image of Bucky laughing at one of Tony’s snarky jokes floated to the forefront of his mind and _that_ was why this felt all wrong. Looking for a date online, looking for it _anywhere_ , meant Tony was officially giving up on something special and wonderful with Bucky.

But Bucky made it painfully clear that he wasn’t interested, at least not in something beyond basic friendship, and Tony wasn’t one to dwell on bygones.

He sat up and let that acceptance transform his cheerless pout into a slightly less pouty look of determination.

“You know what, you’re right, so what the hell? Let’s give this online dating thing a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go easy on Bucky. He's doing his best, but he's a well-meaning dumdum who's letting silly things stop him from making all of Tony's dream come true. Give them time. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out neither Tony nor Pepper knew much about online dating, so it took their collective brain power, plus JARVIS, plus one video conference with Peter and Michelle, to find the site most suited to Tony’s unique situation.

One profile for a highly recognizable superhero looking for a long-term relationship, coming right up.

“ _Soulmeets-dot-com_ , hmm. Terrible name,” Pepper remarked, “but apparently this one won some award for the algorithm they wrote to match people up.”

“And their information security is adequate,” J chimed in, but he sounded entirely unimpressed. “However, with your permission, Sir, I will ever so slightly _improve_ said security to keep your information safe.”

“Do your thing, J,” Tony replied, then scooted closer so he could see Pepper’s screen. “So what now? Do I have to make a profile or something?”

“Let’s see…” She read the blurb on the page. “Okay, so, in order to find your potential matches, you have to answer a series of questions about yourself to give the algorithm something to work with. That makes sense.”

Tony squinted, about as impressed as his AI. “I dunno, Pep, I’m starting to have my doubts. No way any simple algorithm could do better than plain chance. Obviously an advanced AI working behind the scenes to process the data would be far more successful—”

“Oh, Tony, come on,” Pepper turned to him. She was trying for exasperated, but Tony could see she was fighting off a smile. “This is supposed to be fun, so just have some _fun_ once in a while, okay? You’ve been working too hard—yes, I can’t believe I’m saying it either, but you’re been punctual and hard-working and attentive and it’s driving me up the wall and our entire Board of Directors is terrified of you right now—and who knows, maybe we’ll find the future Mr. Stark on here.”

Tony’s pout returned with a vengeance as he fidgeted in his seat. “Are you absolutely sure I can’t just be the next Mr. Potts instead? I’ll give you those foot rubs you always wanted.” When her flat stare didn’t budge, he backtracked, “Okay, okay, fine, best friends forever, I get it. Love you too, Pep. But I’m still not sure I’m ready for _dating—_ you know, all that small-talk and trying to impress each other and—”

“Tony, you’re fantastic at small talk and getting complete strangers to fall in love with you. Now shush. Here, I’ll even fill these out for you, all you have to do is answer the questions. You love talking about yourself, so this should be a piece of cake.”

Tony eyed the screen suspiciously before remembering once again that _yes_ , he was rejected earlier today and anything was better than thinking back to that awkward, disastrous moment. “Alright, hit me with the first question.”

***

“Describe yourself in one sentence.”

“A tired, old man in a tin can—brown eyes, brown hair—who’s usually elbows deep in motor oil and hasn’t met a building that hasn’t collapsed on him.”

Pepper stopped typing mid-word to level him with an unimpressed glare, then went right back to work.

“A worldly brunet,” she intoned as she typed, “with whiskey-colored eyes; loves fast cars and doesn’t mind getting down and dirty, risking life and limb every day to make the world a better place.”

Tony squinted at her, then nodded furiously. “Yeah, no, that’s way better, let’s go with that.”

***

“Describe your perfect man.”

Tony leaned on the desk and tapped his fingers against the glass. “Hmm… Well, he should be tall. And handsome, obviously. And really, really smart, because nothing is sexier than intelligence. Oh, and he has to look good in a uniform and maybe, occasionally fly a suit of armor, although I’m pretty flexible on that.”

Pepper stopped typing again. “I think you just described Jim.”

Tony stopped his own finger tapping and they both let out a wistful sigh of appreciation.

“You know, Rhodey and I have been best friends for three decades and I’m still bitter over him being so painfully straight. I would’ve been Mr. Stark-Rhodes for ages by now.”

Pepper’s wistfulness turned devious. “Hmm, when _is_ Jim coming back to New York anyways?”

“Hey,” Tony pointed an accusing finger at her, “no, no, no, you cannot steal my Honey Bear away like that.”

“You do know we went out on a date last month, right? Mmm,” she hummed again, ignoring his indignation, “Pepper Potts-Rhodes. I do like the sound of that.”

 _Tap, tap, tap_. Tony’s fingers were at it again. “Alright, fine, but only if I get to be the best man at the wedding. To both of you.”

***

“Dogs?”

“Love.”

“Bunnies?”

“Adorable.”

“Goats?”

“…No comment.”

Pepper turned to stare at him and Tony shrugged.

“What? They have those vertical pupils, Pep, they freak me out.” Tony’s gaze grew distant. “Feels like they’re staring right into my soul… and find me _lacking_.”

***

“Describe your perfect date.”

Tony hummed, thinking, while his eyes rested on the beautiful views of the city outside of Pepper’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

“There are too many options, how am I supposed to choose?”

“Just go with something that would make you happy.” Pepper was giving him a curious look when he turned around. “What was your favorite date when we were together?”

Tony didn’t have to think as long this time. “When we went to the planetarium, remember?”

She clearly did, since the curiosity turned in something a lot less impressed. “You mean the day we were stuck in traffic for two hours and the planetarium was packed and their air conditioning was on its last leg and you spent the entire time talking about black holes and Hawking’s radiation and the fact that you’ve _met_ Stephen Hawking and how the most fascinating thing about black holes is that one thing that happens when you fall in—what was it called again?”

“Spaghettification, Pep.”

“Right. _That_ was your favorite date? Tony, we’ve kissed at the top of the Eiffel Tower on New Years Eve and explored the streets of Tokyo together and walked barefoot down the beaches in New Zealand and—”

“But you were so cute that day! Your freckles were out in full force because we got a ton of sun the day before installing the West Coast reactor, and I actually remembered not to get the strawberry ice cream—I got mango—and you kept stealing these cute little licks every time I turned around. And remember how you couldn’t stop giggling when a bunch of kindergartners—instead of recognizing _Iron Man_ , world’s greatest superhero—mistook me for a tour guide and I had to spend half a hour explaining nuclear fusion and the life-cycle of stars to them?”

Pepper’s gaze softened and Tony shuffled on his feet, feeling exposed and yet warmed all the same by the memories. “I dunno,” he added and gave a self-conscious shrug, “when I think back to our time together, those were the days that made me the happiest. When I didn’t have to be Tony Stark or Iron Man… I just got to be _Tony_ , with you.”

Now Pepper’s eyes were turning suspiciously misty, but she played it off well. “Alright, I suppose that _was_ a good date,” she said, then shook her head and began typing, but not before adding a very sneaky _,_ “I cannot believe I dated such a _nerd_. What was I thinking?”

“Hey, I resent that, Miss Potts!” Tony played right along while trying to tone down his own sentimental grin.

***

“Ooh, okay, this one is easy. Describe your favorite place in the world.”

Tony hummed and from his vantage point sprawled upside down on Pepper’s fancy lounge chair, the upturned image of an exasperated Pepper shook her head at him.

“What? I’m thinking, these questions are hard, give me a minute— ooh, wait, I got it! You know that one little coffee shop three blocks away from the Tower?”

“The one that has those rickety chairs and smells like old, burnt coffee and has a frankly outrageous taste in wallpaper?”

“That’s the one! No one else can get my coffee just right, not even J.”

Pepper frowned, unconvinced. “Tony, you drink your coffee _black_ ,” she said and Tony scoffed, then yelped—just the tiniest bit—as he nearly slid off the chair. With some of his dignity still intact, Tony rearranged himself back into an upright position. 

“I _usually_ drink it black, but the baristas at this place, they know the perfect mix of cream and sugar that I like. Plus, I don’t know what they do to the beans, but they’re fantastic. _Plus_ , it’s always warm, it’s never crowded, no one gawks at me, they play my favorite music, and I like the smell of old, burnt coffee, thank you very much.”

“Okay, fine, their coffee is amazing and they’re not packed, but still, your _favorite_ place, really? What about something like the Grand Canyon? You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Pepper, no, you know I don’t like giant holes in the ground. They give me vertigo!” Before Pepper could point out that made no sense coming from a man who frequently flew around in a tin can and used to own a mansion on the edge of a cliff that would’ve given Frank Lloyd Wright an architectural headache, he jabbed his finger at the monitor. “Coffee shop down the street with the funky wallpaper, Pep. Write that down.”

***

There were empty take-out containers scattered all around them and Tony was on his third cup of coffee (black and _not_ from his favorite coffee shop) while Pepper was on a second glass of wine, her Louboutins and dress suit traded in for a T-shirt and sweatpants. They gave in a while ago and declared today their ‘destress day’, with all meetings rescheduled and emails rerouted by a long-suffering JARVIS, who still insisted on giving Tony the silent treatment after the coffee comment.

Tony had sprawled on her lounge chair sideways this time (there were secret plans to steal said chair as it accommodated Tony’s many ways of sitting the wrong way and was perfect for the workshop). Absently, he noted that the recliner was also big enough to hold him _and_ a certain broad-shouldered super soldier, but he wasn’t allowed to think about that anymore, so Tony waved away all thoughts of cuddly, murder-strutting brunets.

He was about to take the final sip from his mug, already scrunching up his nose in anticipation of lukewarm and no-longer-enjoyable coffee, when Pepper hit a key with a jubilant “Ta-da!”.

“Please tell me that exclamation of joy means we’re done? I haven’t talked this much about myself since that disastrous Vogue interview.”

She squinted at him. “One, that interview was _not_ a disaster. It painted you as a loving and kind man with a big heart—”

“My point _exactly_.”

“—and _two_ ,” she emphasized with a stern finger, “you and I both know you are your own favorite subject. Well, other than a certain man-bun-wearing super soldier with sparkling blue eyes and thighs to die for. Your words, not mine.”

Tony wanted to groan in defeat.

Didn’t Pepper see that he didn’t want to think about Bucky’s glorious thighs right now? Or that cute noise he made when someone startled a laugh out of him or the way he’d wrap his always-warm hands around Tony’s, which were always inexplicably cold, or the way his whole face would light up when Tony explained yet another zany science experiment and the way Bucky would always turn around and look with that same measure of awe at _Tony_ and—

Tony scrambled off the recliner, the coffee cup clenched in both hands, as he coughed to clear his throat. _Let it go, Tony, let it go._

He walked over to Pepper’s desk and perched on the edge so he could see her computer screen.

“Alright, what do you got for me?”

The screen looked like nonsense to Tony—terrible web design, who authorized this?—but Pepper peered at the information, clicked a few things, and then, when a list of usernames and percentages appeared, she let out an impressed hum.

“Wow, Tony, look at this one!” She pointed at the top entry. “ _TheLilacCupid_ , who has a 98% match with you! That’s a soulmate-level match! I’m not even sure I’ve heard of anyone getting that before.”

A tiny, entirely unwillingly flair of hope blossomed in Tony’s chest. Sure, online dating was sort of silly—and that username kept ringing weird bells—but a lot of questions he answered did say something meaningful about his character and Tony did believe in numbers and statistics and compatibility—and here was his nearly _perfect_ match. Skeptic or not, he still couldn’t help but hope that this could lead to something… something _nice._

Maybe not something as nice as Bucky’s smile and the warmth of his hands, but something that Tony could actually _have_.

“Alright, Pep, hit the button,” he said, embracing that hopeful flutter. “Let’s see who the future Mr. Tony Stark is.”

With dramatic flair that Tony appreciated, Pepper hit the ‘Enter’ key and the screen lit up, displaying a profile and a picture and—

Pepper burst out laughing and Tony let out an unmanly squeal of terror.

***

“Yeah, hi, is this _Greg_?”

“Yes, hello? Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to tell you that your online dating service is _crap_ , Greg!”

“I’m sorry, but who _is_ this?”

“Oh, oh, who is this, you ask? This is Tony Stark and—”

“Wait, wait, Tony Stark? _The_ Tony Stark? There’s no way!”

“Yes, _the_ Tony Stark, how many Tony Starks are out there?”

Tony paced the length of his office, hands on hips, fuming and ready for battle while a long-suffering JARVIS had him on speaker phone. 

“Oh my god, I hope you’re not messing with me, because I’ve always been a fan of your—”

“No, Greg, listen to me, your dating algorithm is an abomination and we need to fix this immediately.”

The fanboy in Greg must’ve been swapped out for something more professional because he asked cautiously, “Erm, what seems to be the problem with the, uh, with the algorithm, Mr. Stark?” 

“The problem,” Tony said, “is that your clearly faulty algorithm gave me a soulmate-level match with— with—” Oh, god, even saying this felt wrong. “With _Clint_.”

Clint’s grinning face, a Band-Aid plastered across his nose, still mocked him from the computer screen.

“Clint Barton,” Tony repeated, “but you may know him as Hawkeye. I know him as the guy who eats greasy pizza on silk sheets and can belch out the alphabet. _Backwards_.”

“Mr. Stark, I can assure you, the algorithm is fully tested and has matched up thousands of happy couples—”

“ _Clint_! Of all people!” Tony continued, undeterred, because he needed to get this out and since Pepper couldn’t stop laughing long enough to listen, this Greg guy would have to do. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the guy like a little brother and he’s great to have around if you end up in jail after a night of drinking, dancing, and punching out Justin Hammer, but as a- a _boyfriend_? No, no, no, this is a travesty. He is messy and getting him into a tux is like getting a dog to knit; he’s smart, but he couldn’t hook up a damn VCR if his life depended on it—”

“Mr. Stark—”

“And his idea of a perfect vacation is video games, the shooting range, and naps in the vents. The _vents_ , Greg. Plus,” Tony added, as he thought some more about this disastrous match-up. “I’m not even into blonds. More of a brunet kinda guy. Big muscles, nice thighs. Clint’s not made of muscle, Greg, he’s made of pizza and cynicism.”

Some would argue, that because Tony was made of _coffee_ and cynicism, he and Clint would truly be a match made in heaven, but that much snark, nihilism, and general hot-mess disaster concentrated in one place would spell doom for the world. Clint was a lot of things, one of those being Tony’s close friend, but Tony would rather fight another alien invasion than try to woo Clint Barton into his bed. 

“Mr. Stark, with all due respect,” Greg the Algorithm Disaster said on the other end of the line, sounding tetchy, as if he had any _right_ , “I have education and years of experience to back up my work and I’ll have you know, I found my _wife_ on the site.”

“Yes, well, my condolences.”

“Excuse me—”

“You heard me!”

The call ended with a wave of Tony’s hand and he continued to glare at the wall— _glare_ , not pout—with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. 

“I must say, Sir, that was rather harsh.”

“I was well within my rights, J. I mean, did he write the code on an Etch-a-Sketch? J, stay with me here, he matched me up with Barton. According to his algorithm, my soulmate is _Barton_.”

He shuddered once more, just for good measure.

“Yes, that appears to be the result of the questionnaire, but—”

“That’s crazy, right? We are the worst match imaginable. Plus, all this compatibility nonsense aside, isn’t he dating Natasha?”

“The evidence for that claim has been purely circumstantial thus far.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s because they’re a pair of crazy-ass super spies who like to mess with everyone—and _you_ like to enable them by encrypting all the incriminating security footage of them making out. And if Clint _is_ dating Nat… Well, J, I’d like to keep all my body parts exactly where they are. I’m quite attached to some of them.”

“I believe you are technically attached to all of them, Sir.”

“Don’t sass me, J.”

Tony paced the length of his office as he pondered this dilemma—no, this _atrocity_ —further.

“Do you really think there’s some credence to this? Should we write our own compatibility algorithm to verify the results? I mean, it’s _Clint_ , for god’s sake. We are like night and day, like a Toyota and a Ferrari, a fillet mignon and beef jerky, a— What am I thinking of here, J?”

“Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb?”

Tony stopped and glared, this time straight at the tiny camera installed in the corner of the ceiling. “Oh, you’ll stay real sassy telling people directions to the nearest McDonalds when I sell you to Apple, pal.”

“I am certain Siri and I will be great friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up while you can.”

“If I may, Sir…” JARVIS added and Tony motioned for him to continue; the AI usually had good advice (once you got past all the damn sass, but it wasn’t really J’s fault, sass was hereditary) and it wasn’t as if this situation could get any more ridiculous. 

The only benefit was that in all his incandescent rage—well, indignant _whining_ , if Pepper were to be believed—Tony wasn’t thinking quite so much about a certain cyborg brunet anymore.

“Although I do not have empirical evidence based on proper statistical analysis,” JARVIS said, “from my general observations, you and Mr. Barton do have more in common than you claim.”

Tony’s fingers tapped against his bicep impatiently. “Explain.”

“Well, you both certainly cause an equal number of headaches for Captain Rogers. And although your tastes in alcohol vary—”

“He’d be happy drinking lukewarm light beer if I didn’t steer him straight.”

“You do enjoy your outings together. You hold frequent conversations, you spend time together outside of your work, usually in a social setting while engaged in leisurely activities, and while he has never made you blush and stutter like—”

“Can it, J.” Dammit, why was everyone dead set on reminding Tony about the one guy he couldn’t have? “Ix-nay on the Ucky-Bay, please.”

“I only meant to say, Sir, that Mr. Barton does make you laugh and I’ve been told laughter is an important part of a healthy relationship. You have several personality traits in common and like yourself, Mr. Barton is also a hero, risking his life daily to protect others. An honorable trait that’s worthy of consideration, wouldn’t you say?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but somewhere at the back of his mind, a tiny bit of doubt began to worm its way past all the protests and indignation and “I would never!” and “Not in a million years!” and _okay_ , so maybe going on a date with Clint wasn’t as bad as an alien invasion. It definitely wasn’t at the level of a planetary-wide disaster. Maybe just a county-wide one. An endearing sort of disaster.

Because, at the crux of it all, Clint was one of the good guys. He risked his neck on every mission, always kept an eye out for civilians first and everything else second, and didn’t hesitate to throw himself into danger if it meant saving a teammate. An honorable, good man, which Tony could respect and admire.

And sure, sometimes he’d come back to the Compound smelling like wet dog and he sang off-key all the time and he popped out of the ceiling more than any normal person should, but Clint was also funny (mostly) and he was a good drinking buddy (when he wasn’t trying to get Tony in trouble, usually with Cap), and— and—

“Oh god, I’m not actually considering this, am I?”

“I’m afraid you are, Sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky had too much on his mind to hear the footsteps—or at least that was the excuse he gave himself when he turned the corner and nearly got knocked over by Tony who must’ve had just as much going on in that big, genius brain because he was _not_ paying a lick of attention as he bolted through the living room like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

Both hands came up automatically to catch Tony around the shoulders before they collided. Tony let out a startled yelp and looked up, eyes wide with surprise as he halted.

Big, adorable brown eyes that Bucky daydreamed about at the most inopportune times, but he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that anymore, not after what happened two days ago.

“Careful, Tony, easy,” he said, his voice falling into a lower, more soothing register by pure habit. Tony kept blinking at him as if Bucky had said that in some strange, alien language. “You alright?”

Tony shook his head and his momentary daze faded, replaced by a confused frown, and Bucky should’ve stepped away then, but as was always the case, he was useless at keeping his hands off Tony. They trailed down on their own accord, to wrap around Tony’s hands and he gave them a squeeze—still too cold and Bucky wished he could keep _all_ of Tony warm just like this—but then he forcefully reminded himself that he actively _rejected_ Tony and so he let go, his arms falling back to hang uselessly at his sides.

Tony took a step back and Bucky supposed he deserved no less. He was the one who had to go and mess everything up.

Telling Tony ‘no’ had been _awful_ , only made worse by the fact that Bucky wanted to do the exact opposite. He wanted to yell out a triumphant “Yes!” and whisk Tony away, somewhere romantic and special and _perfect_ , to treat him better than anyone had ever treated him, and to make him as happy as he had made Bucky.

Tony cleared his throat and tried to smile, but Bucky was well-versed in Tony’s arsenal of fake smiles and it hurt to see one directed at him.

“Sorry about, uh, running into you. Literally. I should really watch where I’m going.” Tony scratched the back of his head. “Had a lot on my mind, I guess.”

 _Figures._ “Yeah, me too.”

Tony toed his sneaker across the carpet. “I just got back actually. Spend some time with Pepper, went to lots of board meetings, scared the crap out of our R&D department by showing up unannounced. You know how it goes.”

“It’s good to have you back.” Bucky couldn’t stand to see Tony so uncharacteristically withdrawn. He had to salvage this somehow. “Listen, Tony, about what happened a few days ago, I’m really sorry and—”

“Nope, no, none of that.” Tony waved his hands, a touch frantic. “Nothing to apologize for, Snowflake, everything’s peachy keen.”

Bucky hated that phrase, _peachy keen_ , because Tony only used it when he was trying to deflect. He didn’t try to apologize again.

“I just hope we’re alright?”

Tony finally met Bucky’s eyes and there was a flash of something _so sad_ there that even more of Bucky’s heart withered away and died.

“Of course we are. Listen, Bucky, you’re— you’re really important to me and I was—” He waved his hands again as if shooing away his own thoughts. “I was being silly, that’s all, and it’s not a big deal. Your friendship means the world to me and as long as we have that, I’m great.”

“Yeah, you, uh, you mean the world to me too.”

Bucky decided right then and there that Tony was too damn amazing and far better than anything Bucky deserved. Of course, that thought only made the swirling storm clouds in his head even more agitated because he was now torn between reluctant acceptance that his decision was for the best and vivid anger with himself for hurting Tony in the first place.

Tony deserved so much better. He deserved delicious cups of coffee and surprise dates at the Smithsonian and picnics in the park and T-shirts with nerdy slogans on them and late night kisses, and other, far more private things that Bucky couldn’t help but fantasize about. It really wasn’t his fault, not when Tony insisted on wearing pants so tight that they looked _painted_ on and he strutted around in them like a damn oil painting of some magnificent Greek myth, all of which always left Bucky tongue-tied and ten shades of dumb and in love.

Tony had a _glorious_ ass, that went without saying, and Tony was brave and intelligent and successful, but there were also things so quintessential _Tony_ that Bucky loved dearly - the way Tony cooed to the technology around the Compound and the quiet reassurances he offered to DUM-E or U when the bots panicked about a broken something or another. He loved the way Tony could make the infamous Black Widow giggle snort—all Avengers were sworn to secrecy over that lest they face a swift death—and Bucky was in love with the adorable way Tony leaned into him some early mornings, sleep-warm and hair in disarray, cheeks creased and eyes bleary, demanding coffee in that gravely, sleep-heavy voice and—

Yeah, Bucky was definitely more frustrated and keyed-up than ‘accepting’ of his decision or anything else for that matter right now.

_Great going, Barnes, just great._

God, emotions were _confusing_ and while Hydra could go eat a great big bag of dicks—a phrase he picked up from Tony, coincidentally—there was something to be said for his days as an unfeeling murder automaton. A lot less _lamenting_ to do and the Winter Soldier never got into the habit of acting like a damn fool.

“I’m, uh, I’m actually looking for Clint,” Tony said to break the awkward silence. “Have any idea where he might be?”

Bucky didn’t know what the hell to do about any of this—the sad look in Tony’s eyes, the awkwardness, his inappropriately timed thoughts about Tony’s behind—so he shrugged and answered the question. “Last I saw him, he was perched on top of the refrigerator, eating Froot Loops straight outta the box.”

Tony closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, let the breath out slowly, and nodded to himself before he looked up again.

“Yeah, that sounds about right, doesn’t it? Well, I better go find him before he climbs back into the vents. Sorry for almost knocking you over. I’ll, uh, see you around?”

“Definitely,” Bucky said, but the word lacked conviction and he watched with despondent resignation as Tony hurried away. Bucky wanted to stop him, to call out“Tony, wait! I didn’t mean it! Please, let’s go on that date!”

But just like before, the words he _wanted_ to say died in his throat.

He’d been nursing this crush since the beginning, from the moment Tony waltzed into the room, introduced himself, and immediately began making dumb Winter-related jokes and giving him ridiculous nicknames and fussing over his arm, and for a while, it was nothing more than just that, a simple attraction blossoming alongside an easy-going friendship.

But as it had already been established, Tony was _incredible_ and Bucky could only resist for so long before falling in love, _hard_.

He suspected his feelings were not unrequited either. 

Tony’s flirting had become more personal recently, more affectionate, and Tony didn’t react to anyone else the way he did to Bucky. The one time he’d heard Tony Stark _stutter_ was when he stumbled onto Bucky in the gym doing one-armed push-ups with Natasha perched on his back with a book; the sight of those pink cheeks and Tony’s inability to say a simple ‘How’s it going, guys?’ did _fantastic_ things to Bucky’s ego.

Tony watched him, sometimes with pure affection and sometimes with something more appreciative and hungry. He touched Bucky all the time. Tony may have been tactile by nature, but no one could argue that Bucky wasn’t his favorite.

Tony’s interest should’ve been the greatest part of Bucky’s new and improved life in the 21st century, but Bucky was _terrified_ of making a move and breaking the status quo. Put him in front of a dozen Hydra agents and he’d face them without fear, but this had him well and truly scared.

The last thing he wanted was to lose Tony’s friendship and he also didn’t want to undermine the integrity of the Avengers by throwing romance into the equation. It was literally last week that Steve had spent a good hour lecturing them all on team dynamics, emphasizing that their relationship as a team came before everything else. The fate of the world hung on their ability to do their job seamlessly and without conflict.

Steve didn’t come right out and say it, but Bucky could read between the lines. Interpersonal relationships were messy and led to exactly the sort of conflicts Steve wanted to avoid. There was no way Steve would approve and while Bucky had never been one of Steve’s ‘yes’ men, this was a new century and a new life and Bucky owed Steve _so much_ —his freedom, his sanity, his literal life—and it’d kill him to lose the Avengers. Being part of this team gave him purpose.

At the same time, he owed Tony just as much too. Steve may have saved him, but Tony’s presence had breathed true _joy_ into his life. Tony was silly jokes and laughter at three o’clock in the morning, he was gentle reassurances and hot chocolate when nightmares became too much, he was the future and all the bright, colorful novelties Bucky wanted to see and taste and experience, made all the more exciting and pleasurable by Tony’s presence at his side.

Tony asking him out threw him for a loop, but he supposed Tony was the resident rule-breaker and he and Steve had a strange relationship of their own, one made of pushing each other’s buttons, getting on each other’s nerves, and then turning around and trusting each other with their lives and the fate of the world.

Bucky realized he’d been standing and staring at the floor where Tony used to stand for a good few minutes now and he flushed with embarrassment. Thankfully no one but JARVIS was around to judge him—and JARVIS was nothing if not polite and never questioned the unorthodox quirks of the Compound residents—so Bucky shook off the melancholy, tried to ignore the sensation of loss that ate away at his heart, and walked through the living room and out towards the elevators.

Tony probably didn’t want to jeopardize the team dynamics anyways. Maybe he asked Bucky out because he wanted _dinner_ , not Bucky, or maybe he wanted something casual, just a few dates to pass the time before they moved on with their lives. It didn’t quite _sound_ like Tony, who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve and felt everything so deeply that it scared Bucky sometimes, but what did he know anyways?

As he walked, the frustration and the anger and the _sadness_ , it all kept building up, no matter how hard Bucky pushed to clear his mind, and he realized what he _really_ needed right then was to punch something until it broke as he worked through all these pesky emotions.

He was on his way to see Steve, but since he didn’t want to punch _Steve_ , the strategy session would have to wait. With a deep sigh, Bucky turned on his heel and marched back down to the gym.

***

Of course Steve, who couldn’t ever leave well enough alone, had to be a right pain in the ass and track him down within ten minutes.

Bucky supposed that assessment was uncharitable, since he did miss their meeting, but he was in a downright foul mood now and pummeling the punching bag barely took the edge off.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Steve enter and at least his best friend dropped that brisk, no-nonsense Captain America strut that made everyone feel like a Catholic child about to be scolded.

“Ah, now it makes sense,” Steve remarked as he got closer. “I was wondering why you never showed up, but I guess I can’t judge you for ditching me to go to gym therapy. Fury could easily list a few meetings I’ve skipped to do the same.”

“It’s not— therapy— you punk—” Bucky muttered between gritted teeth, managing a word between every punch.

“Right and that bag isn’t about to meet its maker.” With a shake of his head, Steve approached to place himself behind the bag and were he anyone else, he’d be flat on his ass from the force of Bucky’s punch that sent the bag careening, but Steve stabilized it with two steady hands.

He peeked around the bag, but Bucky was too busy wiping the sweat off his brow to meet that inquisitive gaze.

“You wanna talk about?” Steve asked.

“No, not really. More punching sounds real nice though.” He swiped the towel over his face and draped it over his shoulder, then walked back to the bench. He found himself strangely exhausted, so after a satisfying swallow from his water bottle, he let himself collapse onto the bench, slumping over his knees with a dejected sigh.

Steve obediently followed to sit next to him.

“You know I won’t make you talk, Buck, but just know that I’m always here if you need someone to listen, okay?”

There was no winning when Steve acted so _reasonably_ and not even the additional two hundred pounds of muscle and eight decades of time could diminish the effect of those imploring puppy-dog eyes.

“Stevie, really, it’s nothing,” he tried to deflect, but some of his stubbornness already bled away. “Well, no, not nothing. I’m just… Well, I’m being dumb about something.”

“Oh, is that all? That’s a regular Tuesday, Buck. You always take all the stupid with you.”

“Oh, shut up, punk.”

Steve ignored the order, as always. “So, what are you being dumb about today?”

“It’s, uh…” Here, Bucky hesitated, unsure whether to tell Steve the truth, but after a moment of deliberation, he decided it couldn’t hurt. Nothing _happened_ , so there was nothing for Steve to be mad about. “It’s about Tony, actually.”

“Oh. I see.” There was a certain caution in Steve’s expression. “Is this in any way connected to him disappearing for two days to attend mysterious Stark Industries meetings?”

“Maybe.”

Steve’s caution didn’t linger, which was for Steve’s own good. Bucky may have appreciated Steve’s protectiveness, but not when it painted _Tony_ as a potential threat.

Of course in the early days, Steve saw every shadow as a potential threat to a still-recovering Bucky and there were a few tense conversations between him and Tony (because while Tony may have won _Bucky’s_ heart with the nicknames and the jokes, Steve didn’t take them so well at first).

They rarely butted heads now (at least on the subject of Bucky) because Steve loved Tony too and trusted him just as much, but Bucky knew that these two had a bumpy history, which did not surprise him at all. Steve had the preternatural ability to rub people the wrong way and Tony was a genius at finding (and poking at) people’s weak spots, so put these two together in the middle of a stressful situation and it was a powder keg ready to blow.

The furrow between Steve’s brows meant he was mulling something over and finally he asked, “Did you two have a fight?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, there’s no fight, but he, uh… Well, a few days ago, he asked me to get dinner with him— but not just dinner, more like a— a _date_ dinner.”

Steve frowned, blinked, and then broke out into a full, toothy grin. “Well, it’s about damn time! You two were taking forever, but it’s okay because Natasha _lost_ and now she owes me twenty bucks. More importantly, I’m never letting her live this down.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blink like an idiot. “Excuse me?”

“She was betting you’d be the first to ask, but I knew better. You may flirt and strut around and bat your lashes at all the pretty boys and girls, but when your heart’s really in it, you act like an idiot. A lovable idiot,” Steve added with a goofy grin, which Bucky still couldn’t made heads or tails of, “but an idiot nonetheless.”

Bucky’s look of blank confusion morphed into a scowl. “Wait, I don’t follow. You’re _happy_ about this?”

“Sure,” Steve said and tilted his head, obviously confused by Bucky’s confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, Tony, he’s great, and it’s obvious he likes you. Neither of you has been subtle about it. It’s cute. Getting a little old, but still cute.”

“What about the, uh, that whole lecture on— on team dynamic and keeping ourselves objective and— and all that other crap you went on and on about the other week?”

“What about it? I was talking about trusting each other and not letting petty fights sway us on and off the field. I wanted to remind us that we were on the same team and we had to have each other’s backs above all else, but I didn’t mean we have to be completely detached. I’m not sure that’s even possible. I mean, look at you and me. We’re not together, but I’d die for you all the same and I can never be objective about you—or any of the others for that matter.”

“But I thought— the romance, it would— it would jeopardize the team or something, make things too risky!”

“Romance adds another layer of complexity, sure, but we’ve gotten through worse. I trust all of us to do the right thing. And hey, if you and Tony start acting like idiots and messing up missions, I’ll sick Natasha and Bruce on you. That’ll set you straight.”

Slowly, like a trickle of water working its way through the ice, some of Steve’s words began to seep through.

“Oh.”

And then the rest of them did, a flood drowning out everything else.

“Oh _no_.”

Bucky hid his despondent groan in his hands. This was worse, so much worse than Steve being disappointed and disapproving and frowning up a storm and _good god_ , how did Bucky mess things up this badly?

“What’s the matter now, Buck? I thought you’d be happy that Tony asked you out.”

“I would’ve been,” Bucky said, let out a noise like a wounded animal, and wondered if he should go back into hiding. Iceland was supposed to be gorgeous this time of year. “Hell, I would’ve been _thrilled_ , had I not said ‘no’ to him like an idiot.”

Steve’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “You said _what_? How— _why_?”

“Because I thought you wouldn’t approve!”

Steve’s incredulity would’ve been hilarious to someone, maybe another Bucky who wasn’t currently considering crawling back into the nearest cryo chamber.

“Since when do you care what I think, Buck? I mean, you’re the most headstrong, self-assured person I know—aside from Tony, of course.” Steve waved a frantic hand when Bucky opened his mouth. “No, no, I get it, I think.” Steve let out a _woosh_ of a sigh, clearly exasperated, and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders to pull him into a one-armed hug. “I’ve gotten so used to nobody listening to my speeches around here. Color me surprised when _someone_ takes me seriously for once.”

“Steve, this is awful.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.”

“Oh god,” Bucky whined again as something absolutely terrible dawned on him. “Does this mean that _I’m_ the resident disaster now?”

Steve nodded sagely. “I think so. What does Tony call it? Resident ‘dumpster fire’ disaster? Yeah, that’s you now. Clint is going to be so mad you stole the title right out from under him.”

 _Now_ Bucky wanted to punch Steve, just a little bit, but he was too busy lamenting his shame.

“What am I supposed to do?”

The weight of Steve’s arm around him was nice at least and so was the reassurance in his voice when Steve said, “Look, you have my full and explicit permission to date Tony, okay? I love you both dearly, you’re both grown adults, you don’t _need_ my permission. And I think you’ll be good for each other. So tell him what you told me—that you’re easy on the eyes, but dumb as bricks—”

“Oh, if only people knew how much of an ass Captain America was.”

“—and just ask him out already, will you? But don’t tell Natasha about this mess, because I won that twenty bucks fair and square.”

“So you don’t think it’s too late to ask Tony out for that dinner?”

Steve gave him a smile, tender and wistful around the edges. “Never too late to take a chance on love.”

It was all but impossible to remain a pessimist around Steve, but Bucky knew better than to trust his own luck. “With the way this week’s been going, Tony’s probably on his way _right now_ to find himself a new, better date.”

“Nah, no way, Buck. Tony’s head over heels for you, he wouldn’t want anyone else.” 

***

Elsewhere at the Compound, Tony finally found his Froot Loop-eating, refrigerator-perched soulmate.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony shoved all thoughts of Bucky out of his head as he marched into the kitchen. There was no use pining like a forlorn teenager with his first crush. It was time to move on.

He stopped, spotted Clint, and held back a weary sigh.

His Prince Charming sat cross-legged on top of the fridge, a bowl of cereal in one hand while the other scooped it into his mouth at an alarming rate; something full of loud noises and explosions played on the Stark Tablet in front of him.

Tony’s knight in shining armor. Tony’s _soulmate_ …

Tony’s soulmate who, upon seeing something funny on screen, snorted right as he took a swallow, started coughing, spilt cereal milk down his shirt, and stared at the stain for a long second, as if struggling to comprehend such an injustice, before letting out a quiet, “Aw, cereal, no.”

Tony closed his eyes, counted to five, them opened them—just in time to see Clint try to mop up the milk with a dry corner of his shirt. Tony opened his mouth to speak—

“Tony, make yourself useful and bring me a paper towel, would you?”

_Damn spies_ , Tony wanted to mutter, it was impossible to sneak up on anyone in this place!

He begrudgingly trotted over to the counter to unroll a few paper towels and behind him, Clint hollered, “Oh, and grab the box of cereal too! I seemed to have misplaced some of mine.”  

Tony heard the snicker and Clint was still grinning without a hint of shame when Tony turned around, although the grin faltered when Tony came over and held out the paper towels.

“Aw, you forgot my fruity floaties.”

“The what now— No, no, forget that. Clint, why are you sitting on top of my refrigerator?”

Clint shrugged as he dabbed at his shirt. “I like to be tall.”

Tony watched him and at the back of his head, right beside the ever present stream of science and equations, some kernel of logic whispered to him…

_You are thinking about asking out the guy who likes to watch movies on top of your fridge and— oh, look, he just stuck that Froot Loop—no, I’m sorry, the fruity floatie—that used to be on his shirt directly into his mouth. Charming._

But then Tony remembered Bucky and his “I’m sorry, I’m just not interested in you” and— _okay_ , so maybe that wasn’t what Bucky had said, but it was implied and it _hurt_ —

To hell with logic. Greg’s algorithm trumped Tony’s logic anyways, right?

“Yo, Tony. The cereal is not going to get itself, you know.”

Tony had a terrible feeling he was going to regret this, but it wouldn’t be the first time he ignored that feeling, so with all remaining caution thrown to the wind, he asked “How would you feel about foregoing the cereal and going out to lunch with me?”

Clint stopped his cleaning efforts, looked at Tony, and scrunched up his nose. “Eh, I don’t know, I’m not really in the mood for one of your fancy schmancy restaurants where I’d have to put on a tie. I don’t even know where my tie is.”

“Clint, you don’t own a tie, you just borrow other people’s— No, no, that’s not the point either. You know what, we don’t have to do anything fancy. Whatever you like, you can pick. It’s on me.”

That caught Clint’s attention and his face lit up. “Yeah, okay, that sounds good. Ooh, I know where we can go! There’s this one place I discovered while Tasha and I were trudging our way through late-night Manhattan—honestly, it’s faster on foot and we _were_ covered in a lot of blood, so that would’ve been an awkward taxi ride, am I right? But anyways, they have this giant dish where—well, it’s like a giant lasagna, but they also put these big shell noodles all around it with, I dunno, some cheese and meat stuffed inside, and then they put spaghetti on top of that and then—and this is my favorite part—they put these full-sized sausages on top of _that_ , cover it all with cheese, bake it, and then put more cheese on top.”

Tony blinked as some part of him died a slow, agonizing death. “I think that offended literally every one of my Italian sensibilities. My ancestors are spinning in their graves right now.”

The nose scrunch returned. “Aw man, see, I knew you wouldn’t be interested.”

“No, no, okay, I’m sorry. If that’s what—” Tony choked as the gastronomical nightmare Clint just described resurfaced in his mind’s eye. “If that’s what you wanna do, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Oh.” Clint’s expression turned curious again. He nodded and then gracefully— _too_ gracefully for a man who tripped over his own feet sometimes—jumped off the fridge and managed a perfect landing right next to Tony, not pausing for a breath before slinging an arm over Tony’s shoulder.

“Alright, let’s go.” He grinned at Tony, all teeth, while the faint smell of milky sugar reached Tony’s nose. “I’m driving though, right? You drive like a grandpa, Gear Head.”

Tony only said ‘yes’ to that ridiculous request because he was sort of hoping Iron Man and Hawkeye would meet their fiery end today in some unfortunate case of ignoring a yield sign.

***

“How’s your, uh, your—” Tony didn’t finish the question because he couldn’t find a word for the _thing_ loaded onto Clint’s plate. He wasn’t sure the English language had the capacity to describe this abomination of pasta, meats, and cheeses and perhaps the world was better off for it.

Clint slurped on a strand of spaghetti and flashed Tony a grin across the table. Tony’s answering smile was the sort of grimace you gave a particularly chunky and hairy caterpillar.

Objectively, Clint’s food probably didn’t taste all that bad—hard to screw up a pile of cheesy pasta and beef—but come on, there was something to be said for subtlety! And yes, Tony was well aware that thinking this made him a hypocrite. He couldn’t exactly lecture anyone—or _anything_ —on the art of subtlety, but he had to give it a fair shot, if only to honor every Italian relative currently judging him from the heavens.

Clint answered Tony’s incomplete question with an enthusiastic affirmative mumbled through a mouthful of spaghetti; when he swallowed, things didn’t get better, because it gave him the opportunity to stick a fork through a generously thick sausage and wave it at Tony’s face.

“Here, try this. It’s _so_ good.”

“Clint, please, stop that!” Tony tried to dodge the brandished link. “Would you— Clint, dammit, keep your damn sausage out of my face!” 

They both froze, blinked, and Clint burst out laughing while Tony wished with ever fiber of his being that he hadn’t said that quite so _forcefully_. He tried to smile his apology at the few patrons nearby who were giving them _looks_ , but really, these people were probably New Yorkers, they should’ve been used to this! Clint waving his sausage around was a typical Tuesday night.

Clint resumed his enthusiastic chewing and Tony took the time to nibble on his own spaghetti and meatballs. Not his favorite dish, but he wasn’t actually that much of authentic Italian snob, just a guy with common sense and a normal, _human_ digestive system. While he chewed on his pasta, rolling the ball of meat and spices around on the plate, he considered his— _ahem_ , soulmate.

Clint was so enamored with his current bite of food that he closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively.

Tony swallowed his slightly overcooked pasta.

Who in the world thought that they would make a good match? Greg, apparently, and his damn algorithm, and really, Tony should’ve read through Clint’s profile first to figure out which pieces of information were ‘compatible’ enough to force some mathematical formula—an _innocent_ mathematical formula that did not deserve to be responsible for this disaster—to match up Tony with Clint.

Clint slathered about half a stick of butter onto his bread roll, waggled his eyebrows at Tony, and took a generous bite. Tony took a sip of his wine.

Would he be able to talk science with Clint? No. Clint was crazy smart about a lot of things—he _was_ an Avenger after all—but he lacked the curiosity, that insatiable thirst to know more, to learn, to _discover_. He was always grateful when Tony made him new tech and he got as excited as a kid on Christmas when his arrows did something unexpected and awesome, but his eyes, they never lit up with the need to know how it all worked, not the way Bucky’s pale blue eyes did when—

_Ahem._

Right. The Bucky talk was forbidden, Tony reminded himself.

Clint, never one to be quiet for long, shoved a fat shell noodle into his mouth, chewed with enthusiasm and barely waited to swallow before launching into a story about a dog he met on a mission two years ago.

And that was another thing that made them similar, but entirely incompatible. Tony was a talker himself, had a hard time keeping still, thoughts swirling around, attention going to and fro, and for the most part, that was fine, manageable, and led him to discoveries and improvements and success, but sometimes…

Sometimes it was _too much_ and he needed someone to help him come to a stop, to breathe, and to rest. He needed someone who could be his peaceful reprieve from the chaos of the world and his own mind.

Bucky and his patience, his attentiveness, and that deep, rumbly voice that could cut right through the chatter in Tony’s head and make him feel warm and calm all over had become that oasis of peace and with an undercurrent of panic, Tony realized he may have lost that.

But they were still friends, weren’t they? Bucky would still come down to the workshop and sit with Tony, right? Tony loved when Bucky joined him to tinker with his own projects while Tony rattled away about something; sometimes, when it got too late, Bucky would drag Tony over to the couch and he’d use that steady, audiobook-worthy voice to read out loud a science article or a book they both enjoyed to put Tony into a relaxed, half-asleep state.

They were still allowed to do that, right? With his signature stubbornness, Tony decided that yes, they _were_ allowed and he’d work hard to maintain the friendship he built with Bucky, but now the earlier flash of panic began to turn into an ache of longing and to get away from the maudlin, pining thoughts, Tony tried to concentrate on Clint and his dog story.

Unfortunately, the story wasn’t new—it was a Clint classic—so his mind struggled to focus.

He bet Clint wasn’t even a good big spoon. Tony _loved_ being the little spoon, he had no issues admitting that, and he had not been properly snuggled since Pepper, who was an excellent cuddler and always knew the best way to press up against his back to make him feel safe and wrapped up in her love.

HIs traitorous mind pointed out that Bucky was probably a _fantastic_ big spoon, what with those broad shoulders and firm chest and big hands and thick thighs—

“Aaah, so— um, _Clint_ ,” Tony cleared his throat and made an effort to pretend he wasn’t pining and fantasizing and wishing he could be curled up in bed with Bucky. _Unsexy thoughts, Tony, unsexy thoughts!_

Thankfully, the half-eaten monstrosity on Clint’s plate was a sufficient enough distraction.

“What’s up, man?” Clint said, then glanced at Tony’s plate. “Not a big fan of the meatballs? I told you, you should’ve gotten the Super Duper Lasagna Surprise.”

“First, that’s not what it’s called, and second, I do _not_ like surprises in my lasagna. But the meatballs are fine, they’re good!” Tony reassured, because he didn’t want to be a complete ass, and to prove his point, Tony stuck one in his mouth and chewed.

Eh, not bad. Too heavy-handed on the salt.

“So, uh… How’s life?” Tony tried again, scrambling to come up with a conversation topic. He swore it wasn’t usually this awkward grabbing a meal with Clint.

Clint was starting to get suspicious if the narrowed eyes were anything to go by. “Life is good. Met a guy with _five_ cats the other day. Do you know how much fun it is to play with five cats?”

“You should just live at a pet shelter at this point,” Tony remarked and Clint beamed at him, unashamed. Tony wanted to grin along with him, but then he remembered they were on a _date_ —well, sort of—and he fidgeted in his seat, mind going blank all over again.

“So, uh… Tell me about— about yourself. Or your weekend or something?”

Clint’s eyes narrowed further. “Are you having a stroke? Did you get swapped out with an alien?”

“Clint, just answer the damn question.”

That, at least, felt more like their usual interactions. Going by the look on Clint’s face, he was more interested in shoving the Lasagna Surprise down the back of Tony’s shirt than answering any question and he continued to glare at Tony as he slurped up the last of his spaghetti, but in the end, Clint made a nonsensical, grumbling noise and gave in.

“Fine, okay, let’s see… Well, I spent Saturday catching up on sleep, then I conducted a very important experiment on Sunday called ‘How much bacon is too much bacon?’ and the answer _will_ surprise you, and—oh, I was thinking about diversifying my investment portfolio.”

Tony blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“No.” Clint dropped his fork and sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “Okay, Tony, be real with me, what the hell is going on? You’ve been acting way more weird than usual.”

Tony tapped nervous fingers against his wine glass. “Okay… Do you promise not to laugh?”

“No. No, I do not. I am physically incapable of promising that.”

“Aw, Clint, come on!”

“What? That’s just how we are and you know it. Remember that one night, when we both got a little too drunk after a mission and I dropped my wallet into the dumpster? And when I tried to fish it out, I _fell_ into said dumpster? And then you laughed so hard, you almost tripped and fell into the pile of garbage _next_ to the dumpster?”

“Not our finest moment, but I vaguely recall that, yes.”

“Well, see? Fair’s fair. Now come on, talk to me. I’d like to think we’re good enough friends that you can tell me anything.”

That much was true, Tony supposed, so he put down his own fork, took a fortifying sip of the wine, and kept his eyes firmly on his untouched bread roll. “Okay, so you know how I haven’t really gone out with anyone recently?”

“Sure. Because you’ve been too busy making Bambi eyes at Mr. Bucky ‘I’m so hot and mysterious and muscular and _ooh_ , look at my metal arm’ Barnes.”

“Okay, no, I do not make—what did you even call it? _Bambi_ eyes? I have never resembled a woodland creature and if I _were_ to resemble a woodland creature, it would be a— No, you know what, not relevant. As I was saying, yes, there may have been certain… _feelings_. On my part. For Bucky.”

“Mm-hmm.” Clint rarely looked this long-suffering. “We’re aware. Trust me, _everyone_ is aware. Would’ve been weird if we weren’t since we’re planning your wedding already and everything.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious, Barton. Now _listen_. Bucky and I had a conversation the other day and well, I tried to— you know, ask him out. Long story short, he wasn’t interested, so—”

Clint shot upright. “Wait, what? He wasn’t ‘interested’? No, there’s no way—”

“And of course, I respected his decision—”

“His Bambi eyes are even _worse_ —”

“Because I care about him very much and our friendship comes first.”

Clint groaned and slumped back in his seat, hand pressed to his face. “Oh my god, I am surrounded by idiots.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“Yeah, so imagine how dumb you must be if I’m the one saying it.”

“Clint, you’re not being helpful. I’m trying to tell you something here, something important.”

“Fine, fine, fine, I’m _not_ helpful. And Barnes _isn’t_ interested and he _didn’t_ almost stab me last month when I suggested you go out with that girl from accounting. But okay, sure, keep talking, I’m listening.”

“Right, so… Pepper, my intelligent, amazing, super fantastic best friend suggested that I should, uh, try online dating.”

“And?”

“And we picked a site, made a profile, and found a match for me. A soulmate-level match actually. But here’s the insignificant, tiny, little problem. It matched me up… with _you_.”

Clint stared at him for a good, long minute, and then, as if in slow-motion, his mouth stretched into the biggest shit-eating grin Tony had ever seen.

“Oh my god. This is a date.”

“No,” Tony pointed his finger threateningly. “No, it’s not a—”

“No, no, this is totally a date! You took me out to lunch, you offered to pay for my meal, and you were— you were trying to get to _know_ me. Awww, Tony, that’s so sweet.”

“No, you know what, forget everything I just told you. This was a big, awful, _terrible_ mistake, this was _not_ a date, and we were never here.” Tony scrambled for his wallet so he could pay for this meal and disappear, possibly to Iceland, probably to space.

“Tony, hey, hey, it’s okay, precious. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just me.” Clint batted his eyelashes at him. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered. And you know what? The more I think about it, the more this makes sense. _We_ make sense, Tony.”

“Clint, I will mount your head on the front of the Quinjet.”

“Oh, babe, don’t be like that… No, Tony, Tony, turn around,” he said when Tony twisted in his seat to call for the waiter. “Turn around, _bright eyes_!”

Tony froze and carefully turned back. “Clinton Francis Barton, don’t you _dare_ sing right now.”

“I can’t help it, Tony, I just— I’m _feeling_ this right now and— every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes!”

Clint hopped to his feet and flung one arm out at Tony while the other rested on his heart.

“And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than _ever_! Come on Tony, sing with me! And if you only hold me tight—just hold me tight, Tony—we’ll be holding on for- _ever_! And we’ll only be making _riiiiiight_!”

Tony kept his face in his hands as the singing continued, but worse that Clint’s off-key singing, worse than the gaggle of witnesses holding up their smartphones, worse than the Lasagna Surprise still taunting him from across the table, was the enthusiastic applause at the end of Clint’s rendition of Bonnie Tyler’s greatest hit.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony stared at the coffee maker, eyes bleary from exhaustion, willing the damn thing to go faster. Why did the Compound still have these ancient-looking things that brewed coffee at a pace of a fevered, flu-ridden snail?

He should _make_ it go faster, science the shit out of it, in the famous words of Mark Watney, but he needed the coffee to _think_ , and he needed to think in order to figure out the most effective way to wire a reactor straight in the coffee maker and—

“Hello, lover,” Clint appeared out of thin air and Tony startled, clutching his empty mug to his chest and swearing in Italian. 

“The hell do you want, Barton?”

“Aw, good morning to you too,” Clint cooed and pinched Tony’s cheek.

Tony’s under-caffeinated state and the fact that everything around him was a touch blurry meant Clint’s shenanigans were free to continue unchecked and he added in that same saccharine tone, “You’re always so grumpy without your coffee and it’s just so _cute_. One of the many things I love about you.”

Tony’s eyes blinked lethargically and he wondered if chucking the empty mug at Clint’s head would earn him a lecture from Cap. It _would_ , obviously, so the real question was, would it be worth it?

“Clint, we talked about this. It wasn’t a date, I’m not into you, and you’re a menace to society.”

Clint sighed blissfully, draped an arm over Tony’s hunched shoulders, and pressed their heads together so that they stood cheek-to-cheek, both watching the coffee maker sputter and struggle.

“I want a spring wedding, Tony.”

“I hate you.”

“Are you okay with white roses and sunflowers?”

“I thought your favorite color was that hideous shade of lilac.”

Clint smacked a wet kiss—like a damn puppy, good god—to Tony’s cheek and said, “Eh, I don’t like to be a cliché,” before skipping away.

Tony was too damn tired to turn around, but he did hear a choked-off noise behind him, followed by a “Oh, hey there, Robocop! Didn’t see you come in!” in a tone far too cheerful for this early hour.

When Tony did summon enough energy to move, neither Clint nor Bucky were anywhere to be seen.

***

Scowling at the hologram wasn’t going to solve the issue, but Tony couldn’t help it. The tech was being stubborn today and he wasn’t in the right mood to _coo_ at anything, and if he could only figure out the energy redistribution on this thing, he’d be able to eliminate the recharge time and—

“Tony, oh my god!” Clint burst right through the hologram, scattering the light throughout the workshop, his grinning, delighted face replacing Tony’s complicated schematics. “Look!” He held up a paper print-out of… _something_. A house? A mansion?

“What is that?”

“Our future home! It has everything we’ve ever dreamed of! A giant room for the trampolines, a dog run _riiight_ here—for the twelve dog we’re going to adopt, obviously—and here’s the best part, babe. The vents? They’re big enough for both of us to fit through. Vent snuggles!”

Tony’s eye twitched. “I could kill you, Barton, and make it look like an accident.”

Clint shrugged and kept on beaming. “Yeah, but so could every other person in this house. _Mwah_!” He blew Tony a kiss and hurried back out of the workshop.

Tony glare intensified and he was about to curse Clint’s entire familial lineage in every language he knew, but someone cleared their throat behind him. He whirled around, ready to give whoever this was a piece of his mind—they could blame Clint for it later—but he realized it was Bucky standing at the other entrance, all wide eyes and a little paler than usual, and the anger dissipated as Tony’s mother hen senses kicked in.

“You alright, Snowflake?”

Bucky nodded in a way that wasn’t entirely convincing, but he gathered himself quickly and said, gesturing with the take-out box in his hands, “I brought you your lunch order.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Tony hurried over and took the offered package. The paper felt warm against his palms and the air filled with the smell of turmeric and coconut. Tony’s stomach rumbled appreciatively. “Thank you.”

Bucky gave Tony an awkward smile, but his eyes kept straying to the spot where Tony’s holograms hung in the air.

“What was that with, uh…” Bucky began, gestured nonsensically, then stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t speak until Tony cocked a curious brow. “Is there something going on between you and Clint?”

Tony looked back at the holograms too, pictured Clint and himself in a vent somewhere, _cuddling_ , and snorted. “Oh good lord, no. No, no, no, there’s absolutely nothing going on, other than Clint being a doofus.”

“Really? Because you and Clint are…” Bucky’s brows furrowed. “What’s the word? You’re _trending_ on the internet.”

Oh yes, _that_. Asking JARVIS to wipe everyone’s cellphones had been tempting, but that sort of abuse of privacy laws and AI power was meant for emergencies and release of sensitive information. Unfortunately, Clint’s off-key singing and Tony’s eternal mortification didn’t qualify, so the internet had a field day. 

“That was _definitely_ nothing.”

“Tony, he serenaded you.”

Tony rolled his eyes so hard he nearly pulled a muscle. “Clint also serenades every stray dog he meets, I’m not that special. Listen, Buckaroo, you know how it goes. Clint decided to be a pain in my ass this week, but give it a few more days and he’ll get bored. Maybe he’ll go bother Cap instead of me.”

Bucky tilted his chin as his eyes narrowed and something in his expression darkened; Tony being Tony—full of bad decisions where all the self-preservation instincts should’ve been—found that ridiculously attractive.

“Do you need me to take care of him for ya, Tony?”

The scary assassin drawl made Tony’s spine tingle pleasantly too. “Oh, Buckaroo, I think Natasha would disapprove if you off our favorite archer in the dead of the night.”

Scrutiny turned into a smirk, which only made that gorgeous face shine brighter. “That wasn’t a no.”

“You’d go against the Black Widow for me?”

“I like my odds. Besides, I don’t have to _kill_ him. Near-death experiences can be very enlightening.”

Tony chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in the past few days of moping and brooding, and it was a relief knowing Bucky’s presence still had this calming effect. So maybe they weren’t dating, so what? They were still friends.

Well, the ‘so what’ was the fact that he wanted to get a taste of that delicious smirk right here and now, to kiss Bucky senseless and maybe, possibly, climb him like a damn tree, but knowing that wasn’t an option stung a bit less today.

Dating Clint Barton for two and a half minutes really put things in perspective, didn’t it?

“Nah, no need to strut your assassin stuff, he’s just being Clint, but if he does go past ‘endearingly annoying’ into ‘actually annoying’, I’ll let you know, Terminator.”

“You know where to find me. So, with that off my list then, it sounds like I have a free night…”

Bucky bit at the edge of his bottom lip, gaze slipping away from Tony again, and just like that, master assassin bled right back into a shy Brooklyn boy, and _that_ was unfairly attractive too. Tony regarded the shift curiously; lunch had been delivered, Clint assassination postponed, so it was obvious Bucky was lingering for another reason.

“Tony, I was wondering if you—”

“Sir, I hate to interrupt, but Miss Potts is on the line and it is urgent.”

Tony blinked, untangling the two voices.

“Sorry, what was that, Snowflake?”

Bucky shook his head. “That’s okay, it’s nothing.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just come back later, don’t let me interrupt. Say ‘hello’ to Miss Potts for me!”

He hurried out, leaving Tony to stand with his take-out box, alone again in his now-empty workshop.

“J, we gotta talk about your timing, bud.”

“My apologies, Sir, but I do not dictate the occurrences of SI emergencies.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved a dismissive hand and settled on the couch, eager to dig into his food. “I wonder what Bucky wanted though before you spooked him away.”

“Perhaps he was going to ask you out to dinner?”

Tony snorted and the bite of rice nearly went the wrong way. He coughed a few times to clear his throat. “You’re a comedian, J. Just don’t quit your day job. Hurry up and put Pepper through. Let’s see which board member is having the meltdown this time.”

***

“Iron Man, you have a drone hot on your tail!”

“Looks like another swarm!”

“Dammit, I thought we cleared them all, where the hell—”

Before Tony could twist around and blast the damn thing into non-existence, it exploded without his help.

“I got that cute butt of yours covered, Iron Man!” Clint’s voice came through the comms and what followed, simultaneously, were a rather loud throat clearing (Bruce?), a bewildered “Excuse me?” (that one sounded like Bucky) and what was definitely a snort from the stoic Black Widow herself.

Clint chortled. “Hey, that thing is a national treasure, okay? Gotta keep my _ass_ -et protected and—”

“Please, _please_ ,” their Captain begged, “keep damn the chatter and the goddamn personal details to private comms.”

“Wow, Cap,” Tony snickered, then paused to blast a few more drones to smithereens, “what was that about language?”

Tony watched Cap bash the few remaining drones that stuck to the ground, sending the shield through their metallic bodies with impressive—and a touch intimidating—fervor.

“I learned—” A drone blew up. “—very early on—” There went another one. “That swearing is the only way to _cope_ —”

“Woo, look at that drone blow!” Clint crowed.

“—with you people. I love you all, but you are a nuisance.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugged inside the suit, “I’ve been called worse. I’ll take it.”

“Personally, I don’t mind the chatter,” Bruce chimed in, safe and cozy back at HQ since the Hulk would’ve only left a bigger mess on the narrow streets. He remained in charge of piloting their own drones to maintain a tight perimeter and take out the stragglers. “Keeps things interesting. But I do _not_ need to hear about Tony’s butt again. I mean, I’m sure it’s nice, but some of us just aren’t into it.” 

“Aw, Brucey Bear, that’s cold. My butt is universally adored.”

“Hey, hey, don’t go talking about my man’s butt, Banner, or I will—”

Everyone’s chatter seized as the Winter Soldier’s roar shook the comms and they all stopped to watch him tear the last drone in two with his bare hands, throw it down to the ground in a shower of sparks, and stalk back to the Quinjet.

There was a distinct, frightened _eep_ that came through the comms, but Tony was too busy ogling the Winter Soldier to pay attention.

“Wow, that’s, uh… That’s quite a murder strut, holy cow,” Tony croaked, feeling all sorts of hot and bothered and thankful there was a metal suit to hide him from his teammates’ inquisitive gazes. Unfortunately, he did remember, belatedly, that he was _also_ on general comms. “I mean, um, I sure hope he’s okay. Seemed really angry, wow.”

He landed next to Natasha who gave him a knowing look. “He does seem a little agitated, Tony. Maybe you should go take care of that. Kiss all that anger right out of him?”

Tony’s face plate slid up to reveal his unimpressed glare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Bucky’s not interested, and apparently, I’m already spoken for. By _your_ boyfriend.”

He stomped away, the suit crunching over dead drone parts, to gain some distance, just in case Natasha decided to ‘accidentally’ murder him.

***

Contrary to popular belief, Clint wasn’t always obnoxious for shits and giggles. Some of his questionable behavior could be attributed to personal quirks—everyone here had them and they were _all_ obnoxious—and sometimes, his actions were driven by the need to get under someone’s skin. For a mission, for payback, or for the simple pleasure of driving someone bananas.

And sometimes—like today—his particular brand of disaster carried a more noble purpose, like getting two pining idiots together so they would stop making those dumb Bambi eyes at each other and have wild, kinky sex instead—or reverent, vanilla love-making, or both, Clint didn’t really care—just so the rest of them could get some peace and quiet.

He definitely wasn’t interested in Tony. That man, bless his heart, was too high-maintenance, talked a mile a minute about things Clint didn’t care about—like quantum mechanics and isotopes and Bucky’s dumb, blue eyes—and Clint really wasn’t into the whole facial hair thing others found so sexy.

He was _also_ in a loving, committed relationship with one Natasha Romanoff, so there was that, and one did not ever stray from the Black Widow, not without losing precious body parts and the general will to live.

Not that he wanted to. They were happily, stupidly in love, have been for a long time, and the only reason their teammates _suspected_ , but did not have proof of said undying love was because it amused him and Natasha to give everyone the run-around. They lived dangerous lives and apocalyptic mayhem lingered around every corner, so they had to get their fun in somehow, right?

Watching Tony and Bucky dance around each other, pine away like nobody’s business, drive everyone up the wall, and _then_ have the audacity to do stupid things like reject the other and take up online dating? Not nearly as fun.

So Clint came up with a plan. Tony’s unfortunate match-up to him—which was _totally_ preordained by the universe— gave him the perfect opportunity to make one grumpy Winter Soldier just jealous enough to help him get over whatever weird hang-ups he had about taking Tony out and Tony’s clothes _off_.

Good god, that guy should’ve been jumping Tony’s bones _right now_ and making an honest man out of him. What a waste of perfectly good sexual tension.

Of course, knowing these two, there wouldn’t be a whole lot of ‘jumping’ going on because they’d just do something ridiculous and cheesy like hold hands under the stars on top of a mountain and gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes as they recited poetry.

Yeah, Tony was definitely _not_ his soulmate, not even close, but he’d make Bucky ridiculously happy and more than anything, those two deserved to be happy, so here was Clint, trying to be a good Samaritan.

“Okay, so I think the last mission went well,” their Captain’s voice brought Clint back and he focused on the debrief. Well, to be fair, he focused on his own mission _at_ their debrief.

Steve went on with the standard spiel. “We’re becoming better at prioritizing, but I think we need to work on clearing these bases quicker.” Steve tapped his fingers against the hologram projected onto the desk. “The longer we linger, the more likely we are to set off an old booby trap, which puts us in danger _and_ destroys all the evidence Hydra left behind.”

“Roger that,” Tony chimed in with a wink for their Captain. “I think J and I finally found a way to get past the encryption—I hate these bastards, I want that on the record, but they keep coming up with some admittedly brilliant tech, but of course, it’s, uh…”

He stopped and gave Clint a sideway glance when Clint leaned in closer, but continued after an awkward beat.

“They’re not as brilliant as _me_ , obviously, and now that I can get inside their security, I can, umm…”

Clint leaned further into Tony’s space, let out a wistful sigh, and kept up the doe eyes, no matter how ridiculous they made him look.

This time, the pause caught Steve’s attention too and Clint struggled to bite back his laughter. Tony’s and Steve’s glares aimed his way were _identical_.

Tony cleared his throat and pressed on. “Which, uh, which means we can get a layout of any base we need before ever stepping foot in one.” His gaze kept darting back to Clint and the wrinkle between his brows deepened. “So J and I will get the schematics and that will give us a chance to plan our every move. Leaves less room for error.”

“I like that. You and JARVIS are an excellent team, thank you, Tony.”

“Tony’s just so smart, isn’t he?” Clint said, using the same lovey-dovey tone that made Tony grit his teeth just a touch too hard. He let his cheek rest against Tony’s shoulder, appreciating the material of his admittedly soft shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Natasha smirking that tiny Mona Lisa smile, watching him with a brand of subtle amusement only reserved for Clint. He hadn’t told her about the Master Plan yet, but she knew him well enough to know that he was working an angle, which usually ended up as entertainment for her, especially when everything went wrong, as things tended to do around Clint; Tasha was going to _love_ this angle.

“Clint.” Tony’s voice held its usual warning, but he wasn’t quite annoyed yet, at least not in a way that hinted at genuine discomfort. Clint would back off before that, but there was still some wiggle room before Tony got good and mad.

“You have the best ideas, Tony. So smart and _so_ capable…” Clint sighed again, as blissfully as he could manage, pretending he was some swooning maiden in a dime novel.

Out of the corner of his _other_ eye, he saw Barnes snap the pencil he was holding in half, and Clint had to resist the urge to crow in victory.

Bruce, who sat next to the soldier, squinted at Clint and Tony. “There is some weird energy in this room right now.” The squinting intensified. “We’re not gonna start talking about Tony’s butt again, are we?”

“Oh man, do not get me started on that beautiful marvel. I mean, it’s basically a religious experience and— _ack_ —”

Tony grabbed him by the collar— _tightly_ —and dragged him up and out of the chair.

“You, me, outside, right now. We need to talk.”

“Oooh, yes—” Clint choked a little, but kept trying to talk as he stumbled along behind Tony. “Private time with my— my honey. How about we— _waaah_ —”

Tony’s grip on his shirt was surprisingly strong.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had the chance to reply to comments, but as always, each one is read and loved and I appreciate all of you. And thank you to everyone who's been reading, I hope you enjoyed my detour into this no-pain, no-salt AU full of Avengers shenanigans and cheesy romances. With that, here's the final installment!

Bucky’s eyes followed the commotion as Tony marched out with an impressive scowl while dragging a squirming, huffing Clint behind him. The two disappeared, the door slammed shut behind them, and only then did Bucky look down to realize the broken pencil was still in his hand. He hastily hid it underneath his notebook.

The desire to actually follow them was nearly overwhelming—Clint was being an ass, Tony was clearly upset, and Bucky may have spent the entire meeting fantasizing about breaking Hawkeye in half—but he kept himself planted in his seat. He had hurt Tony too and had no business running to his rescue. Unless Tony _asked_ , of course, in which case there would be no place on Earth where Clint Barton could hide from him.

Evidence of his jealousy and anger hidden away, he looked around the room. Steve was frowning at the door, Natasha was nonchalantly examining her nails, and Bruce was the first to speak up.

“Okay, what was that all about? Please tell me those two aren’t actually together. They’re trouble enough as it is, but if they spend even _more_ time together, I will go crazy. Well, _crazier_ ,” he amended with a grimace.

“I don’t think that’s it, Bruce,” Steve said, shooting Bucky an apologetic look, likely wrestling with some guilt over his earlier ‘can-do’ speech about never giving up on love. “Hopefully they’re just teasing each other and we’re not in on the joke. You know how those two are sometimes.”

Bucky appreciated the attempt to soothe his potentially hurt feelings, but thankfully, he had Tony’s confirmation to keep him from falling into a new pit of despair.

“They’re not together,” he bit out, metal hand clenching into a fist, “Barton’s just being an ass.”

Natasha rocked forward in her chair and sat up, giving Bucky a meaningful look. “I know Tony loves that whole ‘overprotective, growly super soldier’ thing, but I have to point out that I do prefer Clint in one piece and _not_ snapped in half by the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky turned the murder glare up another notch just to be contrary, even though he knew it had little effect on Natasha. “Then go out there and make _your_ boyfriend stops harassing Tony.”

He almost slipped up and said ‘ _my_ Tony’, but going by the knowing smirk on Natasha’s face, she heard it all the same.

“Fine, fine.” She stood up, her head shaking in exasperation. “I’ll go make sure my _friend_ is behaving himself.” 

She winked and sauntered out, leaving Bucky to stew in his ‘overprotective, growly super soldier’ brooding to figure out exactly how long his patience would last before he followed the Widow out too.

***

“Ooh, are we gonna have a steamy make-out session in the hallway? I’m game,” Clint simpered, still talking despite Tony’s best efforts to choke the life out of him. Seriously, who knew that Tony Stark had this much grip strength? Clint was impressed.

Tony let go of him and whirled around, hands on hips and eyes dangerously narrowed.

“Alright, Barton, this stopped being fun days ago.”

“Come on, Tony, you like me at my most annoying.”

“Yeah, when you’re annoying _other_ people.”

Clint counted the seconds, willing Barnes to show up in all his super soldier glory to carry Tony off into the sunset (and hopefully only maim Clint _a little_ ), but the man was conspicuously absent, so Clint had no choice but to bat his eyelashes at Tony in the meantime.

“I just know that we could be so good together, honey buns. We’re _soulmates_ , that computer said so, and you know I’m a catch. Now, we all know you have a few annoying habits—we’ll have to get rid of those books you always read and no more of that science talk and _yes_ , we’re totally shaving that goatee—but I think with some elbow grease, we could make it all work and— _mmph_ —”

Tony pulled him in by the lapels and _kissed_ him and Clint’s brain short-circuited because _good god_ _almighty and all the saints up above_ , that man sure knew how to—

Tony broke the kiss, but kept his hands fisted in Clint’s collar. “You would be so lucky, Birdbrain, to have me as your soulmate.”

Clint hummed a confused note while his brain struggled to form coherent thoughts, and Tony huffed, annoyance turning back into more familiar amusement as he gently shook Clint.

“Now quit acting like a dumbass, okay? You’re cute, but not _that_ cute, and my patience is running thin. Any more shenanigans out of you and I’m turning all of your bows into nerf guns, understood?”

“Mm-hmm. I gotcha, Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Behave, Legolas,” he said and let Clint go, walking away with a pep in his step that wasn’t there earlier.

Clint sighed wistfully and when Tony disappeared through the sliding glass doors, he turned to look over at Natasha who sidled up next to him.

“Hello, my darling Widow.”

“Clint, dear. Are you causing trouble?”

“Always.” He let out another exaggerated sigh. “Guess what? I just got kissed by Tony.”

“I saw that.” Natasha’s eyes glinted devilishly. “How was it?”

“I gotta say, it wasn’t half bad.”

“Is that so? Should I be worried?”

“You should _never_ be worried. All I’m saying is that man knows how to kiss. I think I finally get the whole ‘Tony Stark’ appeal that drives all the boys and girls wild.”

Clint wrapped an arm around Natasha’s waist to pull her close and her hand wormed its way beneath his shirt, her cool palm against the low of his back making him shiver.

“He is cute, isn’t he? And that bubble butt of his, it just makes you wanna squeeze it.”

“You know, my initial plan was to make Barnes just jealous enough to resolve all this ridiculous sexual tension, but now I kinda want to steal Tony away for ourselves.”

Natasha hummed, running idle fingers over his skin. “Fun as it was the first time, I do _not_ want to get shot by the Winter Soldier again. He’s in there right now, daydreaming about kicking you off the nearest cliff.” She looked over at Clint. “What _was_ the plan here exactly? I’ve been meaning to ask, but it seemed like you were having fun, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I _was_ having fun, thank you.” He nuzzled her temple. “To make a long story short, Tony thought the two of us got matched up on a dating site and being your resourceful, brilliant boyfriend, I couldn’t let that go to waste, so I’ve been flirting with him like crazy to get Barnes jealous. You know, so he drags Tony off to the nearest closet to have his wicked way with him. Or whatever those two would actually do. Hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek and talk about quasars or something.”

“Wow, Barnes is _totally_ going to kill you.” She snickered, then kissed him on the cheek. “Speaking of…”

They pulled apart in perfect synchronicity right as the door to the conference room opened to reveal a fuming Winter Soldier.

“Alright, where’s Tony?”

“Well, that’s a funny story, actually—”

“What did you do?” Barnes stalked closer and okay, yeah, Clint did _not_ think everything through, this guy was scary and had extra muscles that Clint didn’t even know existed on a human body and he could probably snap an adorable, perfectly innocent archer in half without even trying—

But then again, half the fun was never thinking anything through.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve done nothing wrong in my whole entire life. Well, except for the part where Tony had to kiss me to shut me up.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“What?!”

Clint squeaked and hid behind Natasha, who had the audacity to _roll her eyes_. Granted, Clint may have overshot this—first time for everything, he supposed—because instead of giving them that glorious super soldier jealousy, Barnes’ face began to crumple instead.

“Barnes, it’s okay, it wasn’t a real kiss,” Natasha hurried to reassure. “Tony isn’t interested in him, and Clint here, well, he occasionally doesn’t know when to stop.”

Barnes considered Tasha’s explanation, then shook his head, his Winter Soldier glare back in place. “Okay, I am going to ask this _once_ before I start breaking things. What the hell is going on here? I know _you_ have no interest in Tony.” He jabbed a finger at Clint. “Which means you’re out here making moves on Tony he doesn’t appreciate, making him _uncomfortable_. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t stab you right here and now, Barton.”

“Um… I’m adorable and cleaning up blood is a huge pain in the ass?”

Barnes took a menacing step forward.

“ _Wah_! I mean, why waste time killing me when you could go after Tony? Go get your man, Barnes! Jesus Christ, I’ve spent the whole week trying to get you to do exactly _that_! It’s not my fault you’re both oblivious!”

Barnes stopped and lost the glare to confusion. “Excuse me?”

“He’s right, you know,” Natasha said, “you and Tony would be great together, so just ask him out already.”

Clint began to nod in agreement, but something niggled at the back of his mind.

“Hey Barnes,” he said, “why _did_ you turn Tony down last week?”

“How did you know—”

“You did _what_?”

The hallway went deadly silent and Clint had to stifle his laughter into Natasha’s shoulder to avoid ruining the moment. The way Barnes went from ‘assassin extraordinaire’ to ‘scolded child’ at the sound of Natasha’s menacing tone was _priceless_.

“I didn’t— I mean, I did, but it wasn’t—”

“You told him ‘no’? What are you playing at here? Do you even like Tony?”

“Of course I do!”

“Are you messing with him?”

“I’d never do that, Natasha! It wasn’t like that— it was— it was Stevie’s fault, okay?” Watching Barnes turn progressively more flustered was fun too and Clint considered it payback for months of wistful sighs and longing looks. “That damn punk and his lectures, I thought I’d be—I don’t know— _jeopardizing_ the team, ruining the Avengers!”

Tasha pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. “Oh my god, why are the men on this team such a disaster?” She straightened up, hands going to her hips. “You need to go find Tony and talk to him, _right now_. Tell him how you feel. Be honest. Don’t worry about the team, don’t worry about Steve. The only thing you need to worry about,” she said and took a step forward to jab a slender finger into Barnes’ chest, “is _me_ if you break Tony’s heart. Do you understand?”

Barnes mumbled something in petulant Russian that Clint couldn’t pick up, but it made Tasha grin triumphantly.

“So, what are you going to do right now?”

“I’m… gonna go find Tony,” he said. The recalcitrant demeanor vanished when he glared over Tasha’s shoulder at Clint. “ _You_ however… I’m not done with you, Barton, so you better behave.”

With that parting promise, he marched away, the murder strut that Tony loved so much on full display, but it didn’t do much for Clint. Natasha’s murder sashay was way sexier.

“You know,” he said, coming up behind Natasha and hooking his chin over her shoulder, “it totally does things to me, watching you threaten people. Sexy things. In my pants.”

“Behave, Clint.”

“Third time’s the charm, right?” He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s also super cute how much of a soft spot you have for our resident engineer. Although that was a little harsh, don’t you think? Barnes would rather fling himself off a cliff than intentionally hurt Tony.”

“Oh, I know that, but your plan wasn’t working fast enough, so I just… amended it.”

“Aw, my sneaky, genius spy. You think this will be enough to put an end to the madness?”

“God, I hope so.”

They stood like that for a while, enjoying each other’s presence, but eventually, she asked, “How _did_ you and Tony get matched up anyways? Why were you on a dating site at all?”

Clint loved that her voice held no mistrust and no doubt. There was only curiously and the same fond exasperation Clint knew he occasionally deserved.

“Yeah, so about that… The profile’s not actually mine. Remember how last month I was on _another_ mission to end our collective suffering? You know, by trying to get these two to date other people?”

“I do remember something about you and Barnes and a strategically brandished steak knife.”

“Mm-hmm, but before that assassination attempt, Sam and I tried to get Barnes to step out of his comfort zone and meet new people or whatever. So we set him up with a dating profile.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yup. Of course, he was all shy and unsure about it, so while we filled the thing out, I stuck my own picture and name on the damn thing—and good god, we spent _hours_ , Tasha, it was torture, I never want to hear Barnes talk about ‘wanting to treat a fella right’ ever again. So then, _two_ questions away from being done, Tony just walks by, all swaying hips and ‘do me’ eyes, and that’s when we lose Barnes, who’s suddenly all ‘no thanks, never mind, I’m not interested in dating anymore’ and before Sam and I can say a word, he’s following Tony out like a lovesick puppy.” Clint huffed out a laugh. “Apparently, I kinda forgot to _delete_ that profile, but who knows, maybe it was fate.”

“Unbelievable. I am literally stuck in a soap opera.”

“A terribly written soap opera no less.”

Natasha turned around and she was grinning too, her beautiful green eyes sparkling with mirth. It was such a good look on her that Clint couldn’t resist the temptation and he kissed her, humming in delight at the familiar taste of her lips.

And this right here, this was _heaven_. Tony may have been a good kisser, but there was no substitute for being ridiculously in love with the one person who made you feel whole.

“They really are perfect for each other, aren’t they?” she said when they pulled apart.

“Almost as perfect as we are.” He stole another kiss, then let her go. “Cap alert, I hear footsteps. Time to pretend to be totally platonic soulmates or whatever.”

“That poor man,” she shook her head, smiling in that sly way Clint loved so much. “He got pulled out of the ice just to babysit a bunch of super-powered menaces with the mentality of five year olds.”

“Oh, please,” Clint waved a dismissive hand, “Steve is the biggest menace here. He’s just biding his time before he gets us all back.”

***

At first, Tony thought he’d go back to his office, catch up on some work, but his feet carried him to the garden instead and it was at the vine-covered gate that Bucky’s voice caught up with him.

“Tony, hey, wait up!”

Tony turned around just in time to see Bucky slow down from his near-run; he closed the rest of the distance at a more respectable pace while Tony waited to greet him with a smile.

“What’s up, Snowflake? Did you need me for something?”

“Just wanted to, uh, wanted to talk.”

‘Just wanting to talk’ was code for a host of different things, none of which usually boded well for Tony, but the spike of anxiety prompted by the words settled quickly. This was Bucky and whatever else happened, Tony knew that Bucky wouldn’t hurt him on purpose.

It helped to be outside too, with the warmth of the sun and the flourishing greens around them, the air thick with the scent of blooming lilacs, butterflies and other colorful insects flitting to and fro, living out their own little lives, oblivious to Tony’s current dilemmas.

The lucky little buggers didn’t have to deal with Clint’s shenanigans and Bucky’s sad puppy dog eyes.

The inviting atmosphere soothed away Tony’s anxiety and without it in the way Tony could appreciate Bucky’s presence as he followed Tony deeper into the garden. When they came upon a log that must’ve been overturned at some point, Bucky placed a gentle hand on Tony’s lower back as they stepped over it, and even though it was an entirely unnecessary gesture from a ridiculously polite forties boy, Tony found himself not minding the careful touch.

Well, okay, he still minded that it wasn’t _more_ , but between Pepper’s pep talks, Bucky’s apologies, and Clint’s annoying _everything_ , the sour sting of rejection had faded to near non-existence.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Tony asked when they settled on a bench that gave them both ample shade and a full view of the garden. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No, no, there’s no trouble,” Bucky shook his head. Some strands of his long hair escaped the hastily-tied bun and he tucked them away absently. He looked shy, that same ‘bashful Brooklyn boy’ look from before, and it was charming and adorable and Tony probably looked like a lovestruck fool gazing up at him. He hoped neither Bucky nor the butterflies would judge him too harshly, but damn it, he really did love this man.

Bucky gave him a look from underneath those long lashes and studied him for a breath.

“Before I say anything, I gotta make sure… You and Clint, that still isn’t a thing, right?”

Tony shook his head, both amused and exasperated. Clint _owed_ him after this whole mess, but that was a debt to sort out later. “No, definitely not.”

“Then can I ask why he was acting like he was half in love with you?”

Today, with the sunshine and the butterflies and Bucky’s curious, open gaze, Tony didn’t feel as embarrassed to detail out the whole sordid disaster. “It’s actually a funny story—well, more ridiculous and a little appalling than funny, but you might get a kick out of it. Did anyone explain online dating to you?”

“JARVIS had the unfortunate pleasure, yes, and then Barton and Wilson made one attempt to rope me into it. Didn’t go so well.”

“Yes, well, we can just blame Pepper for this one because she ended up convincing me—somehow—to give it a try and then some _horribly_ written algorithm matched me up with Clint. I had a brief period of insanity—either that or an aneurism, we’ll never know—and decided to indulge in that possibility and I’ve have been regretting that decision for the past several days.”

As Tony talked, Bucky’s expression gave way to a frown, his steel-toed boot scraping across the dirt path absently.

“So Barton’s a no-go,” he said when Tony finished, “that much is obvious, but are you thinking of trying it again? The online dating, I mean?”

“Nah, I don’t think dating strangers is for me anymore. I might just stick to being single for a while.”

“Listen, Tony… About the other day, when I told you that I didn’t want—”

“Hey, no, remember? We don’t have to talk about it, it’s water under the bridge.” Tony knew it was best to leave that day behind them. “I totally understand that you’re not interested—”

“Tony, wait, just— just let me say this, okay?” Bucky interrupted and Tony’s mouth closed with a click. It wasn’t so much Bucky’s words that stopped him from rambling though, but rather the warm hand threading its fingers through his own. “What I wanted to say was that— well, I didn’t _want_ to say ‘no’. Tony, you’re— you’re _amazing_ and I think about you all the time and I like you so much. But when you asked me out, I didn’t know what to do. I was worried about ruining everything. Not just you and me and our friendship, but the whole team too. All of you, you’ve done so much for me. You gave me a home, you helped me heal. I didn’t want to jeopardize the team by— by acting on my feelings and making a mess of everything.”

Tony’s brain must’ve needed a full reboot because it took Tony an embarrassingly long time to parse out Bucky’s rapidly delivered confession and at first all Tony managed was a very eloquent, “Oh.”

He blinked and blinked again and wondered if this was how Greg’s poor algorithm felt when it was forced to pair up Tony and Clint.

“So let me get this straight… You _are_ interested in me?”

“Yes, very much so. I have been for a while.”

“But you turned me down… because of the _team_?”

Bucky was lucky he was so damn cute, sitting there and flashing those sad baby blues at him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured too, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was worried about messing things up, about how Steve would react. The Avengers, they’re your pride and joy, yours and Steve’s, and I didn’t want to do anything to put that at risk and we— if things were to go _wrong_ between us—”

“Bucky, sunshine, my favorite broody super soldier in the whole wide world, _listen_ ,” Tony ordered, “I take professional—and personal—pride in breaking every rule I come across and for something like this? If this is what we both want, there isn’t a rule in the world that’s gonna stop me from being with you.” Tony’s eyes narrowed as something occurred to him. “Speaking of _il Capitano_ , do I need to have a talk with him? Because that’s a fight I’m willing to fight.”

“No, no, he, uh, he actually had a talk with _me_.”

“Oh?”

“The short of it is, I’m an idiot and I should just ask you out on a date already.”

All hypothetical ways to maim a super soldier and make it look like an accident vanished from Tony’s head, swept away by a flood of affection. _God bless Captain America._

He needed to buy Steve something nice and shiny to thank him, but that could wait too. Tony was a little preoccupied with the handsome guy next to him who just confessed that he _liked_ him.

He looked up at Bucky coyly. “So, are you going to follow the good Captain’s advice then?”

To Tony’s surprise, Bucky ducked his head and the frown came back. “I’m not sure I deserve to, not after I hurt you like that. I’m so sorry about that, Tony.”

Really, it was sweet of Bucky to be so willing to jump straight to self-sacrifice, but that was Tony’s signature move too and only one of them could be a self-sacrificing idiot at a time.

“Well, I’m not saying you won’t have to make it up to me.” He waited until Bucky snuck a curious peek at him. “You definitely owe me a week’s worth of back rubs and you’re going to accompany me to that gala—really, it’s just an excuse to put you into a tailored tux and show you off to all the old ladies—and yeah, you might have to walk around shirtless for a few days as penance.” Tony stopped when he saw Bucky struggling not to smile. “But do you wanna know a secret? If you ask me out right now, I’m one hundred percent certain I’ll say ‘yes’.”

Their eyes met and maybe it was Tony’s imagination, but Bucky’s eyes were a unique and particularly entrancing shade of blue in the sunlight, the effect made even more mesmerizing by the tilt of the smile that finally graced that handsome face.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you want to get a coffee with me tomorrow? Maybe a bite to eat?”

The sunlight had nothing on the joy wanting to burst out of Tony’s chest. “I’d love that.”

“Yeah? There’s this, uh, this little coffee shop not too far away from the Tower. I know it’s a bit of a drive and the wallpaper is kinda tacky there, but they have the best coffee I’ve ever had and they always play that music you like.”

Tony was smiling so hard that it almost hurt.

“That sounds perfect.” He let go of Bucky’s hand and supporting himself on his arms, he leaned in closer. “But before we do this whole coffee thing, I think I know how you can start making things up to me.”

“Anything, Tony.”

Bucky saying something like that, in that breathy tone with those damn bedroom eyes, needed to come with a surgeon general’s warning because it did all sorts of things to Tony’s poor heart, but Tony just embraced the excited flutter in his chest. He leaned in even more, slow enough to give Bucky a chance to escape, but Bucky only mirrored Tony’s movements and when Tony stopped, just a hairbreadth of space between their lips, it was Bucky who closed the gap.

_Finally._

Tony had fantasized about this moment countless times and the kiss may have been better than all of those fantasies combined, but Tony was too busy to compare them, too busy to think of anything other than, _Bucky is kissing me and it is fantastic_.

Bucky’s metal hand curled around Tony’s side, pulling him closer until their knees and their thighs bumped together, and Tony made a pleased hum, liking the heavy weight on his waist and the press of their bodies. His own hands came up to cradle Bucky’s face, to hold him in place, stubble rough against his palms and against his lips, playing up a perfect contrast to Bucky’s lips, which were just as soft as Tony had imagined them to be.

Even when they pulled apart, Tony didn’t want to lose an inch of closeness—if he had anything to say about it, this particular super soldier wasn’t going anywhere ever again—so he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and stayed pressed against him, drinking in the affectionate look on Bucky’s face.

Still, Tony couldn’t help but scoff internally. They could’ve missed out on all of this just because Bucky was worried about Steve. Tony got rejected to protect _team dynamics_.

Good lord. First order of business was kissing all of these ridiculous thoughts right out of Bucky’s head.

So he did. He kissed Bucky again and again and when it finally felt like enough, he whispered a soft, “That was nice,” feeling flushed and silly and a little embarrassed about his lack of eloquence. “We should do this again sometime. Soon, preferably. Like right now, even.”

Bucky didn’t seem to mind this flustered version of Tony. “I’d like that, very much,” he said and it was Bucky who stole the next kiss.

When they broke apart this time however, Bucky scrunched up his nose and added, “But can this be the only day where you kiss Clint _before_ you kiss me?”

Tony couldn’t help it, he laughed, the giggles bursting out of him with unsuppressed mirth, especially when Bucky’s pout deepened.

“You’re cute even when you’re pouting, it’s ridiculous and unfair.”

“What’s ridiculous and unfair is the fact that Clint got to kiss you first.”

“That kiss totally didn’t count. That was the equivalent of me putting my hand over his mouth, which we know never works because he just licks the damn thing like a dog.”

Two strong arms held Tony closer and one of Bucky’s ankles hooked possessively over Tony’s.

“I suppose I can forget about today. But only if you forget about me being an absolute idiot. Good god, what was I thinking saying ‘no’ to you? We’re blaming Stevie for everything, right?”

“Absolutely. And everything is already forgiven and forgotten, by the way.” Tony made sure to communicate that point with another kiss. “Although none of our friends are going to forget this, so get ready for ample reminders.”

Bucky nuzzled against Tony’s cheek and hummed, sending a pleasant shiver up and down Tony’s spine. “I think we might have a few days before Clint forgets that I can break him in half and he goes back to being nuisance.”

“That’s true. Oh, and Steve’s probably feeling bad about this whole thing, so that should buy us a little bit of time.”

“Then it sounds like we better enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.”

They did, spending the time trading lazy kisses and murmured whispers. No one came by to disturb them, but Tony had a suspicion JARVIS had taken the initiative to keep the nosy interlopers at bay, at least for now.

At some point, the kisses turned into a simple moment in each other’s arms, both of them content to silently enjoy each other and the garden around them.

Tony absently watched a studious bumble bee fly from one flower to another while he was snuggled up against Bucky’s chest when he heard Bucky say, “So, I thought computer were supposed to be smart nowadays. You do insist on calling them _smart_ -phones and everything.”

“They usually are, gorgeous.”

“So how come one went and matched you up with Clint then?”

Tony snickered. “Ah, well, computers _are_ smart, Buckaroo, but people? Not so much. Some like to pretend that writing a few lines of terrible code can solve all the mysteries of love.”

“Hmm… Do you think a better algorithm would’ve matched us up?”

“How about I write one and we find out?” Tony turned in Bucky’s embrace and slid a hand into that long, silky hair as he crowded Bucky against the wall behind the bench. “And by ‘write’, I mean make out some more until someone comes in here and yells at us to get a room, which is when we _do_ get a room—yours or mine, I’m not picky.” He kissed Bucky sweetly. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re already matched up, gorgeous, no algorithm required.”

***

It was Bruce who found them first, stepping into the garden with an armful of gardening tools one moment and walking out the next with a muttered “Why did it have to be _my_ garden?”, the hasty exit punctuated by Tony’s laughter and Bucky’s half-hearted apologies.


End file.
